


Rise like a Hawk from the ashes

by shieldbearer



Category: Hawkeye-Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abduction, Aftermath of Torture, Agony, Amputation, Amputee Clint, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Body Modification, Burner at the stake, Burning, Chains, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton centric, Dark fiction, Death Wish, Desperation, Drowning, Eye Surgery, Flying, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Human Experimentation, Hurt Clint Barton, Injury Recovery, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Mistaken Identity, Near Death Experiences, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pain, Panic Attacks, Phantom pain, Poor Clint, Punishment, Restraints, Stake, Surgery, Tasers, Tony makes a decision, Transformation, Whump, Wings, glass cage, i'm sorry clint, operation, when Clint thinks it can't get worse - trust me it can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldbearer/pseuds/shieldbearer
Summary: A creepy dude captured Clint and is doing some cruel experiments. He wants to turn him into a real “Hawkeye” with wings and the eyes of a hawk.Here he was standing. A monster that he had become. Not knowing with certainty who he was. A wing and almost an arm missing. But what did a guy do with a man who was neither human nor bird?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome :) This is supposed to be just a little short story which is stuck in my head for days. I do have a rough plan in which direction it is going but I don’t mind if this story is growing together with you. So if you have any wishes, ideas, or whatever, please let me know.  
> I’m not a native English speaker. I hope you can forgive me my mistakes.  
> (To all my subscribers who are waiting for part two of my “Toy Soldier” story: I’m really sorry, I still need a little bit time as I want it to be damn perfect. So at the moment, I’m reading every book/article I can get about PTSD and do my researches about injuries, and everything else this story will be about…)

_(Please jump right to chapter 2. This is the new chapter 1 :)_

_Why haven't I deleted 1 completely? Because someone made the effort to write me some lovely comments and it would be a pity to delete all this work…_

_In case you are curious and want to read the original chap 1, let me know :) )_


	2. Chapter 2

Pain. A sharp flash. More pain. The sound of metal that was sawed.

“Sir, he seems to awake!”

A panic-fuelled voice reached Clint’s ear. Disorientated, he turned his head towards the direction it might have come from.

“How could this happen?” A man asked angrily. But just like the first voice it was far, far away.

Clint shook his head. He felt like he just was about awaking from a deep sleep with his dream not wanting him to let go.

“Sedate him! Quick! If he moves everything is ruined.”

Again, Clint had the feeling like he heard the sound with his head under the water. It was so distorted and hollow.

Feebly, he squinted into the dazzling light, only to close his eyes agonized immediately.

All he had been able to notice was a silhouette against the light and a lot of red. Everywhere red. Red. RED. The color got stuck in Clint’s head. Wanted to tell him something. But he didn’t know what it meant.

There was a person. He had to ask him. Clint opened his mouth. Closed it again. Opened it. The words he was searching for didn’t fall into the right place. His brain was empty.

A sharp pain on his back finally broke his spell of silence and let a loud scream escape his lips. He reared up.

“I told you to sedate him! If his spinal cord is damaged it’s your fault!”

The voice got louder and clearer.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. You are fired.”

A loud bang kept resounding in Clint’s mind. Red. More red. It splashed through the room. Flowed down the walls. A thud followed.

Clint tried to focus. There! A doctor. Thanks God, he was in a hospital. Tired but relieved, Clint let his gaze glide along the man. He seemed to hold a sharp, bloody scalpel in one of his hands and a pistol in his other hand. A woman lay down to his feet and didn’t move. Only slowly it seeped into his mind that something was awefully wrong.

“What…?” His voice broke.

Black dots appeared in his vision. He felt how darkness dragged him away – back to his dreamless sleep.

No, no, no! Not yet. He had to know what happened. Like someone who drowned, he fought against the tide that pulled him more and more towards the abyss.

His thoughts whirled around. Nothing made sense anymore. There was no up and no down. Instinctively, he was aware that he had to go upstream but didn’t know why. In his desperation, he reached with his hands for something to clench on it, but there was nothing.

Blood roared in his ears.

The voices in his head faded. One last sharp cut on his back and Clint lost his fight against unconsciousness.

***

Darkness surrounded Clint. Everywhere darkness and silence. Silence and pain. Oh this unbearable pain in his back. Totally absorbed by this feeling, he allowed himself to keep lying in his bed for a little while before he would get up.

“Just a few seconds,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to go to school. The doc had said he was allowed to stay at home after the accident. “I’ll get up soon, promised. Just…”

“Oh you stupid boy aren’t going anywhere!”

Clint flinched. The words could have been from his daddy but it wasn’t his boozy voice. Suddenly wide-awake, the archer opened his eyes. All he saw was a pair of shoes in close-up. Slowly, he let his gaze wander upwards the legs and pushed himself up, ignoring the tugging on his back. Just when he almost could catch a glimpse of the man who was talking to him, something black approached him like a flash and hit him at his nose. Clint’s hands shot forwards and he pressed them on his face where blood gushed out. Without the support of his arms, he couldn’t hold up his upper body in this half lying, half sitting position and fell back on his belly.

“Who the fuck are you?” he gasped out angrily and was about to roll on one side to finally get up.

A step onto his lower back prevented him from doing so, however.

“I told you to stay down, you stupid, stupid Hawk!”

Clint groaned. He felt sick. Fighting against the urge of having to throw up, he shook his body to get rid of the guy who dared to simply step on him like a boot on an ant but regretted it immediately.

“Ahh!” A long cry of pain escaped his lips and quickly he bit on them to silence himself. Turning his head, he wanted to command the guy to find another place to stay but something else caught his attention.

There! Something glittered in the dim light. Narrowing his eyes to slits, he tried to see more. What the hell was this? It seemed like metal plates entombed him. That would explain the heavy feeling pressing him into the ground. Clint managed to turn his head an inch more. In horror, he held his breath. Were those plates…

“…attached to my body?!” Clint whispered before he yelled: “What have you bastard done to me?”

Adrenaline flashed through his body and helped him to jump to his legs, ignoring the “Stay on the ground. You can’t already fly!”

_Fly? What the fuck was the guy talking about?_

Clint swirled around. Or well, he wanted to but the way he staggered looked more like he was drunk. The thing on his back brought him out of balance. Only at the last moment he caught himself and stared aghast at the thing he almost had stumbled over. A huge metal... “Wing!”

Not being able to process what he saw, his gaze wandered from the lifeless thing to himself, to the masked man in front of him who had thrown his hands up, and back to this thing again.

Clint made a step to the side. The wings followed him. He pivoted. Again, the wings didn’t disappear. Instead, the pain in his back intensified and he felt blood trickling out of it. _Not again._

“Not again.” The man’s voice sounded annoyed.

This ripped Clint out of his trance-like condition where he had just stared bewildered at the wings. His inability of trusting his own eyes changed into pure rage.

“You psychopath have attached wings on me?! How dare you…” Screaming, he ran towards the guy. His movements were unsteady. The painful sensation on his back caused his vision to blur. But it didn’t stop him. He had only one goal. Punch this guy in his teeth to make him stop grinning his smug smile.

A glass plate that seemed to appear out of nowhere went in between the two men and made Clint faceplant on it. Anew, blood streamed out of his nose and splattered on the glass. But Clint didn’t care. He turned to the side to follow the maniac but where just had been nothing was now a glass plate too. Quickly, Clint went to every possible side, but everywhere the same result: glass. No way out. A silent noise made him look up and he saw how another glass plate was put like a lid on top of the wall that surrounded him.

“Let me out!” Like mad, he hammered against the glass of his cube-shaped cage. Again and again, he hit his hand against it but the only thing that cracked was his right fist, not the glass. Contorting his face, he stumbled back, stepped accidentally on one of the wings and brought himself down.

This was too much. A sharp rip went through his body. Tears flooded his eyes. In the reflection of the glass, he noticed his back covered in blood and saw for the first time the wings that had been transplanted to his body in full size – albeit only blurred by his tears.

They were made of highly polished metal. Every feather seemed to be made individually. None of them looked like the others. Each one for its own appeared to be so fragile but all together as a collective, they built two broad and strong wings that formed a slight V-shape.

They fitted perfectly and made him – together with the blood streams - look like a fallen angel from old tales. A moment, Clint stared at it. Was this really him? Insecurely, he reached for a feather but let his hand hover in the air instead of touching it. His face mirrored in the wings and he looked at his own image as if it showed him a stranger, again wondering if this really was him. Big familiar eyes looked curiously back and made him averted his gaze.

Then, however, as if his rage had never been gone, he jumped up, caught one of those foreign objects and tugged on them. The pain he inflicted on himself took his breath away. Still, like a fanatic he kept tugging on it, knowing that he would destroy the masterpiece with that.

“No! What are you doing?” The man who had watched Clint struggling with himself had still thrown his hand’s up in despair and tore his hair.

Clint looked up: “I’m correcting the mess you monster have done to me!” He ignored the guy again and had only eyes for the metal. It cut his hands and caused him to see stars but he felt how the left wing loosened so he kept going.

A jolt went through his body and made him fall on his butt. Triumphing, he held the piece of metal in his hand. Thanks to the adrenaline, he didn’t notice the massive gaping wound he just had caused on his back. But although he didn’t feel any pain, his body still knew that it was time to shut down.

He was already tugging on the right wing, when blackness overwhelmed him. And so he didn’t feel the hands that caught him, lifted him on a stretcher and brought him into an operating room. Again.

***

Exactly twelve hours later, Clint opened his eyes. However, this time, he didn’t awake lying on his belly. His knees groaned under his weight as if he was already kneeling for quite a while. And his back… Clint focused on it. Nothing. Somehow…numb?

Slowly, he wanted to have a look around but didn’t make it far. Only now, he noticed the iron chains that where around his hands and his neck, holding him up in the kneeling position with outstretched arms.

“Ah, you are awake!” Clint heard the delighted voice before he saw a pair of shoes of which he already had made the acquaintance. Tired, he lifted his head and was dealt a blow in return.

His head was swirled to one side and fell back onto his chest. Clint didn’t find the strength to pick it up again and struggled against his chains instead but stopped with it when he got a kick between his legs. Agonized, he doubled up. The metal around his neck dragged him back, however, and made him choke.

Hardly able to speak, he managed to utter: “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, you sound like I did something bad to you.”

Clint reared up as far as the chains allowed him to do. “You DID something bad to me! Get those things off of me!” A tear rolled down his cheek. He had been hurt often before. That was part of his job as an S.H.I.E.L.D agent and Avenger but this… this was a whole new level of… Yeah, of what actually? Cruelness? Weirdness? Clint didn’t know. But he knew that it hurt like hell, and that he didn’t want to get old with this things. He already had gotten rid of one of those. And if he had to rip the other one out as well, he was ready to do it. No matter, how devastating the feeling would be.

“You mean the chains? I didn’t want to do this to you. Hawks are proud and long for freedom. I’m aware of that. But you kept opening your wounds. So…”

“No, not the chains! I mean of course them too but the…the… Damnit! Just take those things off of me!”

“You are disappointing me, Hawkeye.” The older man went on one knee to look Clint into his eyes. With two fingers he lifted his chin. “I’m making you better. I improve you. I let you evolve. Just like a butterfly…”

Clint dragged disgusted his head away.

“Well, if you wanted to turn me into a fucking butterfly I’m sorry to bring it to you but I guess you have to go back to school and repeat biology classes. This ain’t the wings of a butterfly. This looks more like…”

“The wings of a Hawk,” completed the other man. His pride was hearable.

“Oh I get it, wings of a Hawk because of Hawkeye, right?” Although Clint sounded absolutely calm and as if it was logical what this guy had done to him, he wasn’t fine with this situation and didn’t understand it at all. And whenever he was unable to cope with something, he just started to blubber out everything that crossed his mind.

“So…if my name would have been Black Widow, you would have added some extra legs, or what?” teased he, distracting himself from the fact that there still was one wing clued to his right shoulder.

Deprecatingly, the greying man shook his head. “You really are a disappointment. Expected more from you.”

“Hey, if you don’t like me, just release me from the chains, take your metal trash from my back and let me go!” grumbled Clint. Really, why did people who abducted him always think that they could treat him without any respect?

“This is no trash! Those are two perfect fitting wings! Just made for you!”

Clint laughed a short, mirthless laugh about the genuine indignation.

“You know what, just repeat school completely and start with first grade. There is only one wing left and soon it will be zero. Do you already know what zero means?”

Strong fingers tugged him on his hair, making him look up to the ceiling.

“Stop being so disrespectful to your master! There are two perfect wings and one day you will fly with them. You will be the first human who can fly all by his own!”

Clint hadn’t listened to those words. He swallowed hard. Hadn’t he gotten rid of one of those wings? How could it be that there were two hanging down on huge hooks, ending up directly in his back? And why didn’t he feel anything? Where was all the pain?

“Anesthetics,” he got the explanation as if his jailor had read his thoughts. “I had to transplant you your left wing again.” The man sounded even angrier when he went on: “Do you even know how difficult it is to connect the technic with your nerves and muscles? And you keep ripping it out.”

“My what?!”

“What do you think how you will be able to fly one day all by your own? That I just make them stick on you with craft glue? Of course it needs your muscles to move them.”

Bewildered Clint stared open-mouthed at the man in front of him. He didn’t feel anything. No pain. No rage. No fear. He just wanted to get home in his bed and leave all this shit behind him like a bad dream. Because this was what it was. A bad dream. Right? It had to be. This was just too surreal to be anything close to reality.

“It will take quite a while till everything is grown together so that you and the wings are one.”

“Sure.” Clint grinned. It couldn’t take that long. Soon he would wake up, tell Nat about his weird dream, laugh with Tony about it and everything would be alright. The granddad could talk what he wanted. He didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Clint is quite a bit in a denial so far and I hope you aren’t disappointed that he isn’t in full fight mode or completely devastated already. I just thought he would need some time to really understand what is happening to him… Though, the following time will be pretty hard for our favorite Hawk. Promised ;)  
> As always wishes, ideas, critique, love letters, and marriage proposals are welcome ;D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so, so sorry it took me so long. I got stuck on the idea of doing something in the style of “Johnny got his gun” but it didn’t work out the way it should. Anyway, the problem disappeared by itself. Got a lot of nasty comments in real life. So I’m pretty pissed and poor Clint has to carry the can for it. Yeah, I know that’s not fair. Anyway. This won’t be subtle “psycho horror” as originally planned. This is gonna be very graphic, quite brutal, and definitely the worst time Clint had ever in his entire life. Stop me if I’m taking things too far in my anger! Though, this chap won’t be that bad for him actually. The really horrific part will follow later, unless some of you seriously stop me or my wrath cools off – we will see ;) just talk to me guys :)  
> approved: having a sick bucket close by if watching lens replacement surgery videos as researches and inspiration for your fictions… ;)

A bloodcurdling scream broke the silence. The stench of burned flesh reached Clint’s nostrils. It was his own. Again he screamed and arched up. Unrelentingly, blazing hot iron followed him the few inches he had managed to move in his chains and kept cauterizing the wounds on his back that kept opening.

Clint panted. He felt heat emanating from the iron that came closer. In a bit it would touch him again. Would burn him. Melt flesh and metal together into one inseparable piece.

Sweat and tears ran down his head. Clenching his fingers around the metal chains that were anchored in the walls, and tensing, he prepared himself for the next touch. It wasn’t long in coming.

A fireworks of pain exploded in his back.

_Focus. Clint, focus! Just one more time. You can do it._

He sensed a movement in the corner of his eyes and drew his attention away from what happened behind him.

_Look. A fingerprint on the glass. My cell hasn’t been cleaned well. Not good at all._

Another touch. Clint threw his head back, rolled his eyes.

_Focus! Stay awake!_

The fingerprint. Where was it?

_You know what happens when you pass out. Daedalus doesn’t like it. Gonna punish you again._

Rapidly, his eyes hushed over the glass on the search for his anchorpoint.

“You are doing good, birdie.”

Clint heard how the iron was laid clatteringly away but he was too weak to be relieved about it. He hadn’t made it through the readjustment of the connections of his wings with his nerve tracts anyway.

A sharp scalpel sliced along his skin, close to his spine. Clamps held the cut open. It was an awful feeling how the skin and muscles were tugged away. Clint knew the game. He had gone through this procedure for a couple of times already. The guy who had captured him – Daedalus – would connect every single end of his nerves in his upper back with the wings. This was a quite fiddly work and needed its time. Couldn’t be done on one day.

First, Clint had clenched to the thought that it was a dream. A really, really bad dream. One for which he would sue the sandman himself if he would exist. But the pain was too real and so he had heard himself saying eventually: “Please let me go. If you want money…I’m not rich…but Tony – Mr. Stark – he has money. A lot. He…” But Daedalus didn’t care about money. He wanted glory. The whole world should see what kind of brilliant doctor he was. Frankenstein was so 19th century. He would be the maker of a superior human race. And his bird would be the first step.

“You still can move your legs?”

Clint didn’t react. He forced all his concentration on this one greasy fingerprint as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. It helped him to go through the operation.

“Hey! I’m talking with you!”

Hands tugged roughly on his hair and broke his concentration. A moment, he was shifty-eyed, then an anxious expression appeared on his face and he drawled: “I’m awake. I’m awake. Don’t punish me. Don’t.”

The iron chains held his hands that wanted to shot forward to protect his body in place.

Daedalus hated it if he passed out as he couldn’t give him feedback if his spinal mark had accidentally been damaged. Clint knew this just too well. Had learned it the hard way that it wasn’t a good idea to flee into the darkness as only more pain would follow.

Carefully he shifted his weight from one leg to the other and wiggled slightly with his toes. It still worked. A faint smile hushed over his contorted face.

In his relief, he burst out: “Ask me for my arms. Ask!” and sounded like a little kid who wanted to show the adults an amazing trick he had just learned. But no one reciprocated his short moment of bliss. No one stroked over his head and said with proud voice: “Show me what you’ve learned, kid.”

Instead he just got “You know that I never ask” as an answer.

Stubbornly, Clint moved his fingers anyway. They were icecold. The feeling of pins and needles had been gone long ago as well as the general feeling of his limbs deadening. But he still could open and close his hands. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t have been surprised to wake up one day with an arm cut off without him noticing it as he had no sensation in his arms at all anymore.

He turned his head to look at his hand - just to make sure that it still was really there. The metal collar around his neck chafed his skin. Opening and closing his hands, he pumped fresh warm blood through his veins.

_Oh no, dad…Daedalus never asks. Doesn’t like that question. Focus on the fingerprint._

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t push the knowledge of losing his arms, the part he needed most to do archery, to the back of his mind – no matter how far away his mind had already traveled to escape the torments of hell.

Instead of words for which he didn’t find the strength his gaze said everything: “Look, the flesh. All blue and grey. Almost white. So cold. So terribly cold. It’s dying.” But if he had hoped his jailor would take pity on him, he was wrong.

“You don’t need them. You have wings now.”

Hot anger bubbled up inside Clint. A minute ago, he had just wanted to endure the procedure. Wanted to get over it as fast as possible. But enough was enough. He straightened himself and let himself fall back to the ground in the hope this would cause the metal to be ripped out of his back.

“I don’t want those fucking wings! I want my arms.” He wanted to sound angry, though his last word drowned in a sob. Still he kept his self-destructive behavior going on.

“Please, I need my hands!” His voice went beseechingly almost whiney. “I’m nothing without them. Archery is my life. It’s the only thing that makes me special. It’s the only thing that makes me happy. Please! Let me be happy.” He stopped tugging on his wings and looked with big eyes up.

Unimpressed, Daedalus stood in front of him with crossed arms and tilted head. This emotionlessness raised the wish inside Clint to spit him in his mask-like face. But he didn’t. The last time he did, he had caused his master to do all surgical procedures without anesthetics. Who knew what else would happen to him if he misbehaved again. So he swallowed down his insubordination, let himself fall back into the chains, and searched for the fingerprint instead. It was better this way. Everything else would just make it even worse.

Something cold touched his open wound. Well known dull pain returned that soon would get excrutiating again. Another of his nerves was interwoven with the dead metal that he would awake to life one day. Smoke fumed when blood vessels were obliterated.

Clint convulsed. Spittle dropped out of his mouth but he didn’t care. Only concentrated on the fingerprint.

_Stay awake. Focus. Just one more time._

***

One hour later a content “We made it! This was the last missing connection! You will fly soon! Isn’t that amazing?!” broke the concentration.

Clint realized that he should be happy. Understood that this was a historical moment and that he was an essential part of it but he barely lifted his head. He didn’t feel elated. All he did was just keep waiting to finally be allowed to pass out. The moment he could let loose – _that_ would be a sublime moment.

_Soon._

He closed his eyes.

_Three. Two…._

“Only one surprise for you and we can start the training!” The proudness in the man’s voice wasn’t missable.

“A surprise? A gift for me?” The tormented archer forgot about his wish to black out and opened his eyes again. Would he really get a reward for going through hell? Would Tony jump out of a corner and yell: “It’s a prank!” Oh, he wouldn’t even rant and rave at him if this would mean the end of his torture. Did Deadalus set him free? Could he go home and let himself be fixed up by Dr. Cho?

Whatever it would be, it couldn’t be worse than what he had just gone through.

“You let me be happy?” Hopefully, he looked up, a shy smile playing on his chaped lips.

“Yeah, I let you be happy,” said Daedalus and tightened the grip around his scalpel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question time ;D (yeah, okay I’m in the mood to talk to some nice people. What’s wrong with it?)
> 
> 1) I’m thinking about deleting the first chapter. Or maybe rewriting it. It wouldn’t have any influence on the ongoing plot. What do you think?  
> 2) Nothing to do with the story, and not really breaking news but anyway: Anyone else hyped that Hawkeye gonna have a Mohawk in Infinity War?  
> Not long ago I fantasized about it in a ff ( _Now only a Mohawk would be missing to look like a sexy outlaw. Wild, free, and giving a shit about authority. Yeah, well maybe he was that now._ ) and now it’s getting real *-* Aww, it’s Christmas already *-* okay, now let him speak ASL and I’m in heaven ;D anyone else feeling this way? ;)  
> 3) And last but not leat: Has anyone already seen the movie Wind River? They’ll show it here for the first time in February… But somewhere else it’s already in cinemas, isn’t it?


	4. Chapter 4

“Yeah, I let you be happy.”

Clint’s faint smile died. The moment he heard those words, he knew that this guy had a completely other definition of happiness than he – than any other normal person had.

Daedalus’ gaze lay with a rapturous expression on the operating table Clint could see through his glass cell. It wandered back to Clint’s blue-gray eyes which had followed him in speechless terror. The archer’s mouth went dry. Instinctively he understood what the man’s “gift” was.

“No,” he whispered. “Gosh, please no.” His eyes filled with water. Everything started to spin in his head. Without avail, he tried to get up, tried to get rid of the chains, just wanted to get away – more than ever before. Like through dense fog, he watched with blurred vision how Daedalus prepared an injection and his jailer’s words sounded far, far away when he said: “My little Hawk, it’s not archery that makes you special. It’s your 20/8 vision. We should concentrate on that.”

The rattling of the chains sounded like mockery in his ears when he tore at them. Like they whispered with creaking voice: _“You never gonna get out of here.”_ Mercilessly, they held him on the ground. _“You are like a wild animal in a zoo - far away from home. You are doomed to die in your cage.”_ Clint wanted to press his hands on his ears but the movement that led to nothing caused the chains to only be even louder.

He began crying hysterically and shook uncontrollably. _“Oh, c’mon. Don’t be so pathetic. Your legs wouldn’t carry your weight anyway even if we weren't holding you back, would they?”_

His breathing went faster. Too fast. Although he did in- and exhale, no air reached his lungs to fill them. Helplessly, he gasped. Black dots danced in front of his eyes.

Clint felt a little prick and a warm hand ruffling carefully, almost tender through his hair. “I know you are afraid. But you don’t have to be.” But hell, Clint was. He was so damned terrified.

Darkness seemed to reach for Clint’s mind. It pulled him away. His body was already numb thanks to the bad blood flow and some drugs that kept the pain on a halfway bearable level. It had almost felt like being coated by a fluffy cloud. His mind shut down, joining his body to the peaceful place. However, it was too much for a single little cloud. It sank. Blackness pressed the protective cocoon together, Clint being right in the center not being able to breathe at all anymore.

But even there, where no light ever would illuminate the place, where no living being should be, Daedalus’ voice followed him like a never ending echo: “I know what’s best for you. Best for you. For you…”

* * *

_My arms! Oh god, what happened to my arms? It hurts so much. He didn’t… did he?_

Clint didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to see the yawning void at the places where his arms should be. Still, something made him be puzzled. Something was wrong. How could something hurt that wasn’t there anymore? How could it feel terribly hot? How could it feel like too much blood had just rushed into his arms if they had been removed?

Phantom pain? Possible. The desperate wish for not having lost his arms? Maybe.

Whatever it was - he had to know.

Quickly, he opened his eyes, only to close them immediately. For a moment, he contemplated if it was good what he had seen in the split second. Then a smile stole across his lips.

_Oh,_ _you idiot!_ chided Clint himself. Daedalus was one crazy dude but not that crazy. When he had told him he would make him happy, he just had meant he would change his position so that his arms would stop dying. That’s why he had looked at the table. Because he wanted to give him a rest there. The sedation was just, so he wouldn’t try to run away.

Relieved, Clint exhaled air and enjoyed lying after many days on his back. It was a typical operation table that usually could be found in every hospital. Only at the place where the wings were, it went smaller so that the wings had enough place to dangle free in the air. Otherwise, Clint wouldn’t have been able to lie on his back. Prudently, Daedalus had fixed the wings again with huge metal hooks on the ceiling so that his bird didn’t have to bear the full weight of them – not now.

For the first time, since a long period, Clint allowed himself to relax. Only now, he realized how terrible tired he was. A couple of times, he opened and closed his fists, fiddled with his fingers without caring that it hurt, and was happy that warmth slowly found its way back into his limb and that the feeling of pins and needles which he usually hated so much returned. Thankfully, he embraced the unpleasant sensation.

Just when he was about to be overcome by sleep, he sensed a pressure on his left eye. Annoyed, he wanted to hush whatever it was away. As his chains didn’t let him, he shook his head indignantly. But it was pressed on the ground. Something cold touched his ears and to his horror, he felt that it were metal plates that came closer and closer. They would smash his head!

Again his breathing went fast, being a first sign of an occurring panic attack. Breaking out in a cold sweat, he writhed on the table.

“Shh, I told you don’t be afraid.”

The pressure on his head stopped increasing. Daedalus had clamped Clint’s head into something that looked almost like a vice so he couldn’t move it an inch. It was important that his bird kept absolutely still during the process he was up to carry out.

Still, Clint’s breathing was way too fast. What did the guy do to him now? The wings were already fixed on his back. Daedalus had told him that. So what..?

_…It’s your 20/8 vision. We should concentrate on that…_

_…concentrate on your vision…_

_…your vision…_

_…vision…_

The eyes…

“No.” Clint pushed the thought as far away as possible, not wanting to let his relief of still having his arms be ruined by another horrible prospect. But of course, he…

He couldn’t finish his thought.

Again, he sensed fingers on his left eye and wanted to squint it. No chance. A clamp pushed it forcefully open and made Clint stare up at the ceiling, directly into a dazzling light.

In a protective reflex his eyelids tried to close but, of course, that didn’t work. Panicky, he looked around till his eye burned unpleasantly and watered so that he couldn’t see clearly anymore.

He found Daedalus standing with his back to him. Apparently, he prepared something.

“What are you doing to me?” His voice broke and he called himself an idiot. He knew exactly what would happen.

“I’ll remove your eyeball and replace it with another one.”

Horrified, Clint looked at the man. If he could have, he would have backed away. Not that he had expected any other answer. Still, to hear it was something different…

Daedalus gave a silent laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. It was just a joke. That wouldn’t work. You would go blind if I did that.”

A moment, Clint hesitated but then he shakily joined in the laughing of the man.

Just a joke… Thank God.

“…of course I will operate directly on your eye.”

Clint’s heart forgot to beat. Though, his nervous giggling didn’t stop abruptly. It should have. He knew what the words of Daedalus meant. He was aware that he literarily had to watch how his eyesight was taken and he wanted to close his eyes to such a heinous act. But he couldn’t. His giggling turned into a hysterical laughing. The fact that he could do nothing but watch; this absolute desperate situation made him go crazy. He also knew that. Still, why should he stop himself from going insane? Nothing mattered anymore.

He saw a kid in his mind. The little girl cried because she got bad results in a test. An angry man appeared. Just being kicked out of work. Standing on the street, thinking it would be the end of the world. Oh, those people had no idea how good they had it. Instead of being at odds with their lives because of such vanities they should laugh together with him.

“Shut up! I have to concentrate when…”

“When you are turning me into a monster parents tell their children about at night?” Clint laughed even louder, realizing that he just had quoted his nemesis and that they had something in common now. “They will be scared of me! Scared…“ He fell silent. Like someone had pulled the plug. Gazed into space.

The girl in his imagination turned around, let her gaze wander over his bloody, stitched together body, to his metal wings that hung lifeless on him, looked directly into his dead eyes, and screamed. Seeking shelter, she fled into her mom’s arms.

A tear rolled down Clint’s cheek, feeling like the saliva from the man from the pathway who had just spat disgusted into his face.

„No, not scared. They will envy you. You are the first worldwide who gets that improvement. Cross your fingers that it works.”

Cross fingers? Oh no, he had something better to do with his hands. Terrified and traumatized by the pictures his own mind kept producing, Clint clenched into the next thing he could reach: his thighs. His fingernails dug deep into his flesh. His mouth was opened wide to a silent scream. Endless slowly, the tip of a scalpel came closer and closer. Clint pressed his eyelids together but they didn’t move thanks to the clamp.

Like mad, he looked around. Searched for something that was worth to be remembered. Something that was worth to be the last sight he would have had in his life.

The fingerprint! In the last days, it had become a good companion. Had always been there when he was on the edge of giving up. That would be just right. A symbol for his will to combat. To survive. But it was too far away. Out of his vision. Just like his desire to live – still there somewhere and at the same time just a memory that slowly faded away.

Like a dry sponge, Clint memorized every color. Paying attention to every single little detail, he felt like seeing the world for real for the first time. A strong grip around his neck that choked him made him stop rolling his eye hither and yon to don’t miss anything.

“Hold still!”

And Clint did. No one would have moved if a maniac with a scalpel and other sharp instruments had control over you.

The scalpel made a tiny incision and Clint watched. He watched how Daedalus grabbed a tiny vial to flush his eye with a cold liquid. And he watched how he reached for the scalpel again.

“I’m dissolving your lens,” babbled Daedalus without noticing how his patient got sick. Very sick.

“You will be able to see an ant crawling on the ground if you are sitting on your favorite place. The roof of a skyscraper. That is your favorite place, isn’t it?”

His face appeared in Clint’s blurred vision. Probably, he smiled. Clint wasn’t sure. He didn’t answer. Just tried to imagine how it would be to be able to do that. He sought refuge in the thought that it really could work. Everything else was just too devastating to think about.

“You will see the world so brilliantly colored and your night vision…” Dreamily, Daedalus laid the vial away and looked almost a little envious at Clint.

Through the bright light, Clint saw another instrument moving around. Felt something in his eye. It was very uncomfortable. Something ran down his cheek but he couldn’t tell if it was another liquid that had just flooded his eye or if he was crying.

“I’m trying to tear your lens away in one piece. But maybe I have to crush it into little pieces and suck it out with a vacuum,” informed Daedalus casually.

Clint swallowed back stomach contents that traveled upwards. Something else found its way into his eye. He had no idea what it was. And he also didn’t want to know. Though, he surely would be informed about it soon. Oh, if this maniac only could stop talking to him.

“Look left.”

Clint did.

“You know, hawks are so fascinating beings. They are my favorites. Next to velociraptors. But who wants to be a velociraptor, right?“ Daedalus laughed hoarsely.

_Who wants to be a hawk?_ asked Clint silently in his mind and looked down, as he was told to. In a twinge of rebellion, he moved his right eye into the other direction although Daedalus couldn’t notice it as he had put a blanket over it.

An instrument with a hook appeared in his vision.

Daedalus sighed. “I wished I could give you the double field of view hawks have compared to humans. I would only have to place your eyes more on the side of your head. But sadly, changing the shape of your head is not possible. Not without a team.”

Somehow – later, Clint didn’t know how he managed to do that - he interrupted the lamenting and mumbled: “It’s okay.” And hoped Daedalus never would find a team that would be able to do that.

“Yeah,” his jailer sounded sad, only to be happy again at the next moment: “But at least I found a way to add the additional eyelids hawks have so that you won’t have problems using your eyes while flying. They are really practicable. You can…”

Clint didn’t listen anymore. Some of his stomach contents found its way out of his mouth, dripping down his face, finding the way along his neck down to the table. The caring hand on his cheek, stroking soothingly over it didn’t make the situation better. Clint could have stood it better if Daedalus would just have punished him like he often had done before whenever he hadn’t participated exactly the way he wanted. More vomit followed only to run back into his esophagus and windpipe. Coughing, he struggled for air and thought what a pathetic way it was to leave the world by choking on the own puke. Not wanting to let that happen, he turned to the side but the plates held his head rigidly in the same position, making him keep having to fight for air.

“I know it’s not easy to get used to the new situation. It’s all so exciting, isn’t it?” Calmly, as if he wasn’t even taking notice that his “patient” was about to suffocate, Daedalus put the tool with the hook away and reached for another instrument.

“Don’t worry, we won’t rush things. We can add the lids later and I’m just doing the lenses today, okay?”

Clint hated the fatherly tone. And he hated it even more that Daedalus was talking about a ‘ _we’_. There was no ‘ _we’_. However, as he knew that he was inferior and that his life depended on this guy being content with him, he whispered sequaciously: “Thank you.” But if he could have, he would have shot arrows through the eyes of this guy. He would have made him feel how it was to have something stuck in them.

Jazz music started to play. Maybe Daedalus wanted to calm him down with it. Maybe he was just bored and one of those brilliant surgeons who always listened to the same tune during their work. Maybe he wanted to drown out the choking noises with it, pretending like everything was all right. Who knew what was going on inside a lunatic?

Pieces floated around in Clint’s eye and he watched it.

Pieces…

Oh yeah, he would smash every single bone of the hands which had turned him into a monster into tiny, tiny pieces. Those awful hands which kept treating him in a way he didn’t like.

Something was inserted into his eye and pushed all the way down into place. Clint felt the tension and heard that it was his new lens in the shape of a hawk’s lens.

A hawk. Damn the day he had been given the name “Hawkeye”.

He took one of his arrows but not his bow. Something he always had liked about his bow – that it kept a distance between him and his victim; that he didn’t have to feel how his weapon pierced through someone – was now something unwelcomed. He wanted to feel how it would stick in the flesh of this guy. Wanted to use all his strength to push it even further. Wanted to sense the resistance when it hit a bone and how it would break and make way for his arrow to go even deeper. Oh, that would be so wonderful. Smiling broadly, he carved a little cross in the skin of Daedalus, tightened the grip around the carbon shaft, and rammed the arrow point directly into the middle of the marked area. The screams of his victim when he twisted the arrow, cutting flesh, muscles, and nerves - like music in his ears. Blood flowed over his hands still being warm. The eyes of the man underneath him flickered. It seemed like their color leaked out, left together with the unstoppable flood of red his body. But he, Clint, wasn’t satisfied yet. He wouldn’t stop before…

“I made three small incisions which I have to stitch up. Then we are done with the first eye.“

Daedalus hadn’t noticed how Clint just was about to kill him with relish in his thoughts. He finished his work, unhooked the eyelids, put an eye pad on his bird’s eye to dress up the wound, and did the same with the right eye, wiping the vomit away from time to time which Clint couldn’t hold back.

Then he wrapped a soft silk scarf around the archer’s head to protect the eyes even better and left him alone drowning in the blackness, the uncertainty if he ever could see again, and his thoughts of revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, that’s the last modification. Next chaps will finally get to what (I guess) most people are waiting for: seeing how Clint gets along with his “new” body, if he can fly, if he can escape,… Hope you are looking as forward to it as I do :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, is it bad that I cannot stop laughing at the line “need more friends with wings” or the stupid calendar motto “if you believe in yourself, you’ll grow wings…”? I mean, seriously? Imagine Clint would go into a store after his captivity and read that…oh, he would go so mental.. ^^

Clint staggered through a corridor and darted about like mad with the one eye that was alright. Well, alright was too much said. It was too good. His brain couldn’t process all the impressions. All those colors he hadn’t even known existed overtaxed his brain. Again, and again, he had to close it and take a pause. Then, he went on teetering till he faceplanted against a wall. Clint growled. His “super view” let him see miles wide but still, he hadn’t seen the wall. Or well, he had seen it but had estimated the distance wrong. All he used to know about stereopsis didn’t work anymore. He would have to learn everything from the scratch if he didn’t want to keep painting doors and walls with the blood from his nose.

Readying himself for another storm of sensations, he opened slowly his eye. It was a surreal feeling. First, his normal eyelids went up, making a slightly blurred corridor appear in front of him. Then, another eyelid slid horizontally from one corner to the other, showing him the same picture razor-sharp. Even the tiny bug on the other side of the room right under the ceiling in the shadow didn’t slip his sight.

The other eye wanted to do the same but it was swollen and ulcerated. Helpless his eyelids fluttered but stuck on the wound fluid that kept running out of his eye over his cheek. It burned and itched. Only at the last minute, Clint stopped himself from scratching it. It would only make it worse, so he let his already raised hand fall down but it wasn’t easy to withstand the longing for rubbing it.

There was no time to lose with that now. Another view over his shoulder and he continued stumbling forwards till his rusty wings got wedged in the door, stopping him painfully in his movement. Somehow Clint freed himself and went running. His legs gave in. Not wasting time, he bobbed up. His gaze fell upon the red strips that went from his wings towards his heart and he could almost feel how the rust traveled from his wings through his veins towards it to make it stop beating.

There! At the further end of the floor was light. Dazzled, he held his arms in front of his eyes. A smile crossed his contorted face. He had made it.

With new energy, he ran even faster. Fresh air was pumped into his lungs. Just three more steps. The sunrays were wonderful warm on his pale skin. The chattering of people reached his ears. Happily, he did another step and grated: „I’m here! Help me. Please!“

Though his happiness wasn’t returned. Disgust flickered over the faces of the people when they looked at him, how he sank on his knees and reached feebly with his hands for them. One of the persons hit his hands away. Another one spat at him. A third one mumbled something about monsters, devils, and the war in heaven and made the sign of the cross. Aghast, Clint watched how they turned away. “No! Don’t go away. Don’t leave me alone!“ He crawled towards them, tried to clench his fingers into the clothes of someone but his wings slowed him down, making it impossible to reach them.

Someone yanked him back on the metal ring he wore around his neck and threw him to the ground. “You are not going anywhere.”

* * *

 

Clint found himself lying on his belly. He had gotten used to it. There wasn’t really another option to sleep with those damned wings on his back. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and leaving the horror of the night behind, he got up, kneeling now in his cell – or his birdcage as he preferred to call it. It was more accurate in his opinion. His heart pounded like mad and sweat glittered on his forehead but it didn’t bother him. As well as he had gotten used to being a stomach sleeper, he had gotten used to those livid nightmares. At the beginning, they had worsened the whole situation even more but in the meanwhile, he had decided to not let himself be worked up by his subconscious. He had already enough problems.

Two days had passed since his involuntary eye operation. Unless experiencing some itching and mild discomfort his eyes were alright. Or well…he couldn’t know. Daedalus hadn’t removed the scarf and he couldn’t do it himself. Not because he was restrained. He wasn’t. He just hadn’t the heart to take it off by himself. A couple of times he had tugged on the silk but in the end, he didn’t dare it.

The uncertainty if he ever could see again or if he would be blind for the rest of his days seemed to crush him. But this wasn’t the only thing to do that to him. There was something that crushed him literally.

Daedalus had decided that it was time to release his wings from the hooks that had carried the whole weight of the metal so far. And now, all Clint did was concentrating on his breathing and controlling the upcoming panic that his own wings would smash him. But whenever Daedalus appeared, he pretended the weight would be no problem at all as the fear of having to go through the whole process of getting wings – this time lighter ones – again was too big. He could almost feel the pain when he imagined how Daedalus opened his just healed wounds on his back, tore the metal out, cleaned the gaping wounds with a disinfectant-soaked cloth thoroughly but not gingerly. And then he would connect muscle fiber for muscle fiber and nerve cords with the metal again. Patient. Ignoring the screams of his bird.

Clint shook his head. What the hell was he thinking? He scowled: “I’m not a bird. I’m Haw…Clint Francis Barton. Yes, that’s who I am.”

“You think that’s who you are?”

Alarmed, Clint flinched. He could hear the impatience in the voice of his opponent, noticed a silent shuffling noise over the floor and knew already before he felt the kick in his stomach that made him whirl through his cage that Daedalus didn’t want to wait any longer to see his bird fly. The lunatic came every day, asking him to do it. It was just, Clint couldn’t.

Another punch followed, swirling his head back. It made a dull sound when it was stopped by the glass behind him. A couple of his blood matted strands of hair kept sticking on it when he was grabbed by the metal ring he still wore around his sore neck like birds that were marked with a tag – just that they didn’t wear it around their necks but legs. But in the end, it didn’t matter. This signal was clear: Clint belonged to Daedalus.

“You are a hawk! Say it!” Puffing the man stood over him. Frightened, Clint held his hands protectively in front of his face. This guy was completely nuts. He remembered what he usually would have done in such a situation. A simple kick against his attacker’s knee, tearing at the right place of the already swaying guy, swirling around and in no time he would have gained the upper hand. But he was a guy who had all his life boasted with his special eyesight. He had concentrated on it. Somehow it has been his life insurance but he had forgotten to pay regularly for it. So, he had to live without it. But he couldn’t. He goddamned couldn’t. All the talk about “accuracy enhancement” and “altered mind” that made it possible for him to never miss even without seeing the target had been just lies to don’t feel so bad next to all the godlike people in his team. He needed his vision, but still, even now, he wasn’t brave enough to get rid of the scarf.

“Move your fucking wings!” It wasn’t the aggressive tone that made Clint’s heart stumble. It was the wording. Till now, his abductor had always kept his countenance. Well, not physically. Physically he had beaten him up already more than once. His body proved that in a very colorful way. And although the guy would never admit it, Clint knew that he had liked it how he - his project - had groaned in pain and promised to be a good bird just to make him stop.

“No, just put them away. Please, just put them off of me.” It wasn’t a good idea at all to say that. But it was everything Clint could think. This and that he would kill Daedalus as soon as he had gotten rid of the weight.

Inhuman screeching made his blood freeze in his veins. He felt an air draft and a heavy weight upon him before he could understand what was happening.

“Use your wings or I’ll give you an incentive.”

“…which you not gonna like,” added Clint in his thoughts with the voice of Daedalus who now sat on him and pressed him on the ground. His breath was so close that the sick feeling returned which Clint had had during the eye op. The pressure intensified. Clint screamed out. The wings bore painfully into his back. If Daedalus would keep pushing him into the ground the metal would find its way through his ribcage, would skewer his lungs and stick out on the other side of his body. Clint already envisioned himself hanging a few inches over the ground being impaled by his own wings. How long would he survive like this? A couple of seconds? If he was lucky maybe. But maybe it lasted hours or even days…

A slicing pain on his right shoulder down to his armpit stopped his considerations and made him roll his eyes instead. A groan escaped his gritted teeth, then, he howled in pure agony. He didn’t need to be able to see to know that a huge gaping wound adorned his body. A knife had cut through his flesh like butter but had gotten stuck on his bone. The blade was pulled out. Again, Clint cried out loud. Splashes of his own blood dropped on his face. He didn’t get the time to cope with his injury. The feeling of being impaled intensified. Apparently, the lunatic was kneeling upon him now. At the same time, he somehow managed to tear at his injured arm. A foot was braced against it and Daedalus twisted it. Once again, Clint couldn’t hold back loud, tormented screams. This time it wasn’t just a drug-filled dream of having lost his arms. This time Daedalus would do it. Coldness reached for Clint’s heart and something happened that had never happened to him before: he was paralyzed with horror. It took his breath and made him just lay there doing nothing against this guy cutting his arm.

Did he think his dreams were horrible? Well, they were nothing compared to reality. It was crueler than any of his wicked fantasies could ever be.

The cracking of his bone echoed unbelievable loud in his ears, making him finally move.

“I’m trying. I’m really trying!” whimpered Clint, pressing his hand on the wound. Blood gushed out. His fingers were not able to stop it. Daedalus let go of his arms but he still sat heavily on his ribcage, pressing him into the ground. A ground that was unlike his back immovable. Full of panic, Clint repeated over and over again: “I’m flying. I’m flying. Promised!” to stop the guy making a chicken on a spit out of him.

The words lost its meaning. After a while, the archer didn’t even know anymore why he was saying it but he also couldn’t stop. But apparently, the man over him knew why. Heavy breathing, he retreated.

A moment Clint was disorientated. Then he got carefully up in a sitting position and was happy about the eye pads and the scarf as they prevented the guy to see tears glittering in his eyes.

It was like the whole world held its breath. Time stood still. And Clint tried. He really tried. More than he ever had tried anything else in his entire life. His muscles started to shake under the tension. His head ached. He became giddy - neither because of the laceration nor because of the great blood loss. It was because he concentrated so much on the wings on his back and how he would move them. Imagined which muscles he needed to spread them and to move them up and down. But those damn things had something better to do than obeying their owner. Lifeless they hung down on him.

A wave of disappointment seized Clint. Washed away the fear of being hurt again. That figured. Of course, it wouldn’t work. How should it? His eyes watered even more. He flailed about in the hope to animate the wings to follow the example. The injury on his right arm protested and it was sickening how the wound opened and closed with a squishing sound but he kept going.

_It’s not working. But why are you sad? You never wanted it anyway._

Clint gulped back a sob. Yes, it was true and still… A single tear somehow found its way through the pads and the scarf. Before it dropped to the dirty ground, Clint collapsed in pain and resignation.

***

The next day Daedalus was still angry about Clint’s inability to move his wings an inch. But his wrath had cooled off. He patched up the wound which Clint had improvised bandaged with the scarf that was meant to protect his eyes. After that was done, Daedalus handed him wordless a glass of water. Somehow Clint knew that he was given something to drink and reached for it but missed it. Disgruntled, he made another attempt. Daedalus really could just give it to him. He wasn’t in the mood for games. His arm hurt and itched and he just wanted to be on his own. That he had to humiliate himself to get the glass was just another harassment as he was a “bad bird”.

Clint scowled under his eye pads. As soon as he was strong enough again, he would show this guy what a real “bad bird” was able to do. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he would never get the chance to do that but still he clung to the only spark of hope.

Finally, he held the glass in his trembling hands, and raised it to his lips but stopped warily. He sniffed. A bitter smell reached his nostrils. Howling, he put the glass on the ground and pressed himself into a corner. He denied himself to drink but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to appease his thirst. Through the protection of his eyes, he stared at the water glass standing alluringly close.

_No! Don’t drink!_

It took him a lot to avert his gaze. Still, his blinded eyes found their way again and again to the place where the goddamned glass stood. He licked his chapped lips. The water would feel so good when it would go down his dry throat. So good..

_No!_

A whole day and a half, he managed to withhold himself but then he gave a tormented howl and crawled to the glass. It almost toppled over but he caught it and raised it to his lips.

_Just one sip. Do you hear me? Just one!_

With big avid gulps, he downed the refreshing water; his warning forgotten. Refreshing? Yes, but unfortunately not only. He knew Daedalus had spiked it with a drug. The bitter smell had given it away. He knew it from other drinks he had been given.  And yes, it soothed his pain and that was good. The throb in his shoulder almost drove him crazy. But the drug also addled him. It made him tired and slow. He wasn’t put in irons any longer because Daedalus had mercy on him. No, he simply wasn’t a danger anymore. He was blind and too weak to stand on his own feet.

The formerly highly trained agent had turned into a bird with clipped wings who couldn’t do much more than crawling helplessly on the ground and searching for grains that prolonged his worthless life.

Whimpering, he clutched his body and rocked back and forth. He never would make it out of here if he couldn’t stop himself from drugging himself. If Daedalus would at least force him to drink it then he wouldn’t feel that bad as he could talk himself into believing that he hadn’t another choice. But like this? He was just weak.

The haze reached for his mind. Soon he would float away on the cloud and hoped that it wouldn’t crush him. Because the little bitch was treacherous. So damned crooked. He knew that. Had been there before. Boon and bane. Just a little bit too much of it and he wouldn’t return.

_Tomorrow I’m not gonna drink it._

His mind went blank.

***

Cold water hit him unexpectedly. It was so icy it took instantly his breath. He couldn’t see it but he knew that his skin turned into an unhealthy looking red and his heart pounded like it wanted to win a race. Desperate, he gasped for air. Still, the hard jet of water was mercilessly aimed at him and wandered up his body. Reaching his head, the blindfold that Daedalus had wrapped around again was ripped off his head so strong was the water. In a reflex, Clint closed his eyes shut and pressed his hands protectively on the pads that were already soaked with water.

He didn’t understand what was going on. On the other side, he was the prisoner of a lunatic whose behavior changed rapidly from genuinely caring to extreme aggression, so it didn’t make sense to try drawing logical conclusions.

Agonized, Clint panted out: “Stop it!” But the water just kept aiming at him. “Please!” Blind, he felt around him, crawled into a corner and pressed himself against the cold glass that suddenly seemed to be appealing warm compared to the icy shower he got, although it was all just in his imaginary as numbness had long ago expelled all sensations. He rolled into a little ball and hoped it would be over soon but it didn’t stop. His lips turned blue and his whole body trembled and twitched uncontrolled.

Although he froze terribly, the icy water started to feel hot on his skin. It actually was like the water hose had turned into a flamethrower that would turn him into ashes. His bright red skin turned white with blisters all over it.

_If you are not going to find something to protect yourself, you are going to die. You are actually going to be showered to death. And this time you can’t call yourself an idiot for having this thought. This time not. You know it’s really gonna happen._

A protection. Good idea. But he was the only “thing” in his cage. And yes, he could entitle himself without bad conscience as a “thing” because although he didn’t know a lot, he knew that he was far beyond being human.

He groaned loudly. A feeling of numbness spread over his body. Doing his best, he tried to think of any way out but apparently, the water had frozen his brain already. He couldn’t come up anything at all.

Something wrapped around his body. Soft and gentle. Almost shy. First, he didn’t know what it was and made him do a little, surprised jump. But then he realized that his body had found a solution on his own while his brain had been on standby. Amazed he reached with his left hand for one of his wings that now clung to his body. For the first time, he touched it voluntarily, let his fingers glide over it and wasn’t bothered by the fact that he accidentally cut himself on the razor-sharp feathers. Like in trance he focused only on the wings and the feeling of being connected to them. Sure, he had been that since many weeks but he had never accepted them as a part of him.

He winced when the wings went to tight around his body, touching his sore skin but as if they had felt his pain, they loosened immediately the hug.

The water still rained down on him. Clint didn’t care. Marveling like a little kid who did his first steps, he spread his wings slightly. The movement was clumsy. Almost threw him off balance. It tugged a little bit on his back when he formed his wings into the shape of a shield. He had seen Falcon often enough doing it and somehow his wings knew by themselves what to do to imitate his colleague. It didn’t cost him a lot effort. It was as easy as opening and closing a fist. No water got through to him anymore. Though the drops were loud as hell when they pattered against the metal. Covering his ears with his hands, Clint waited patiently for it to stop which it did quite soon after he had used his wings.

It was a bizarre picture. Daedalus burst with joy, looking almost like he wanted to sing and dance. He always had known that his bird would sample the delights of wings. Clint had just needed a little trigger. Daedalus smiled even more. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if he would have started taking pictures and would have titled them with “my bird's first ~~steps~~ wing beats”.

Clint, on the other side, knelt ankle-deep in the water not knowing if he should be scared, relieved, angry or maybe proud?

As if the wings realized that their owner wasn’t sure what to think about them, they opened up and retreated, hovering uncertainly in the air, and folding themselves up on his back eventually.

In his joy, Daedalus reached for Clint and pressed a smooch on his forehead. “It worked! It really worked!”

“Yeah, it works,” Clint whispered and if he had felt a little spark of happiness too, it disappeared as suddenly as it had paid him a short visit. Sadness seized him. It was so intensive he had the feeling his heart would burst. It was the sadness of a man who knew that he could reach the sky. That he could rise to the sun. That he could feel the warming rays on his skin and just enjoy the endless freedom but in the end, never would experience any of it. So close and still unreachable.

“As if he ever would let me fly away.” He remembered just too well their conversation about two weeks ago:

_“When I am… When I am a hawk…do you let me go?” Clint swallowed and looked unwaveringly at Daedalus._

_“Woah, woah, woah, that almost sounds as if I’m holding you captive,” laughed the older and caused disbelief to spread over Clint’s face. The chains clattered silently._

_“Will you let me go?” This time, he screamed._

_“You should show me some respect. After all, I’m doing it for you!”_

For me…   _Clint couldn’t get his head around it that Daedalus seriously had said that. And the worst part was that this guy really believed it._

_“You will be a wonderful hawk.”_

Daedalus might have told him he would turn him into a majestic hawk but Clint knew it wasn’t true. All he was turned into was an ostrich. Huge wings and still condemned to stay on the ground. And besides, he could have asked him if he wanted it. Because *surprise!* he didn’t.

And now? What now, where Daedalus had shown off his extraordinary surgical skills? Oh right, he would go on messing with his eyes. But then? Would he keep him like a trophy and look at him full of proudness? Would he sell him? Maybe to a cabinet of curiosities or a rich guy who could have anything for money.

Clint shook his head. No. Daedalus had told him he didn’t care for money. He would keep his project. But what did a guy do with a man who was neither human nor bird?

_Keep experimenting. Keep modifying. Till one day you are no longer Clint Barton._

“Pulled out and replaced with something else,” Clint mumbled, his eyes rolling back into their sockets. His wings went limp just like the rest of his body and crushed down on him. A rip cracked, blood gushed out of his wound on his shoulder. And Daedalus? Daedalus kept dancing his happy dance without paying him attention. But Clint didn’t witness any of it. Unconscious he lay with his face down in the little lake that had built in his cage. Icy, red-colored water filled his lungs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m super sorry it took me so long. It’s just I’m quite busy at the moment and yeah, I also couldn’t decide for quite a long time whether Clint loses his arm or not. So yeah… Hope I’ll be faster with the next update.

Soft lips lay upon Clint’s. He smiled. “Nat…”

“Shhh,” she hushed him and smiled too. “Finally found you.” She stroked full of love over his wet hair, her other hand lay warm and heavy on his chest.

“Nat?”

“Hmm?” Her lips were already searching for his again.

“I love you.” Clint’s heart stumbled, but he couldn’t be happier. Finally, he had been brave enough to confess his deepest feelings. Her hot breath on his skin and her answer caused goosebumps all over his body and made his heartbeat go completely crazy: “I love you too, Hawkeye.”

A sigh of relief escaped Clint’s lips, which were immediately sealed with Natasha’s again. He felt like he actually could fly. It was just him and Tasha. Nothing else was important. Everything was so light. Except for the growing weight on his chest. It brought him back from his cloud nine. Irritated, he wanted to push his best-or-now-maybe-even-more-friend away. Wanted to make her stop leaning that way over him. It felt like he had a broken rib, so her flyweight discomforted him and although he didn’t want to ruin the moment, she had to get off of him.

Clint’s right arm didn’t obey. Only hurt like hell. Pain exploded in his shoulder and spread even into his fingertips. Moaning into Nat’s kiss, the high-spirited feeling disappeared and he remembered what Daedalus had done to him. Remembered the deep cut. Remembered the terrible sound of his breaking bone. Remembered where he was and that they better should get away. Remembered something even worse than his injured arm. He frowned. Natasha hadn’t said anything about it. But she must have seen _them_. Still, she hadn’t mentioned it with a single word. As if it was completely normal to have two huge metal wings on your back. And why didn’t she ask what happened to his eyes? She knew how important they were for him – a professional archer. Why didn’t she care at all?

This wasn’t the Natasha he loved. Suddenly, the closeness to her went uncomfortable. Her lips weren’t soft anymore, but too demanding and tasted not that awesome as he always had imagined. Clint wretched. Uh, it was so disgusting. A mix of cigarettes and peanut butter with sardines. And did he just feel stubbles? The pressure on his mouth disappeared. Clint gasped thankful for air. Sweet, fresh air. Though it wasn’t much as something seemed to clog his lungs.

His thorax was pressed into the ground. The wings went up in the other direction. Full of pain, Clint screamed. The scream was hoarse and turned into a cough attack. He reared up and regurgitated a lot of water.

When everything was out, he sank feebly back. Words reached his ears, but he couldn’t make sense out of it. “Nat?” He whispered, barely moving his mouth and anyone who had wanted to understand him, who had wanted to notice at all that the archer was speaking, would have needed to hold his ear very close to him.

But the person kneeling next to Clint didn’t do it and it also wasn’t the woman the archer had fallen in love with many years ago when it actually had been his job to kill her.

***

“You are not dying! Do you hear me? Not after all the work I’ve put into you.” Angrily, Daedalus hammered at Clint, not realizing that his “project” was already conscious again and only too weak to show any reactions.

“I’m not finished with you yet. You stupid, stupid bird! Don’t do this to me!”

Daedalus happiness about his successful operation was gone completely. What good was it, if he couldn’t prove to anyone that it really was possible? How could he show all those idiots who had laughed at him that he was right and they were wrong? He would have to start all the work again. It would cost him years and the perfect candidate wasn’t passing his way every day either.

He continued his attempts at resuscitation, mumbling: “Have to give you better lungs. They are weak…” Another flush of water ran out of Clint’s mouth. “...they will burst when you fly too fast. And your heart…” Daedalus stopped the cardiac massage and looked disdainfully at Clint’s chest. “Pathetic!” With full force, the older man hit his fist on the lying man to make his heart beat again. Not a good idea. Clint’s heart already beat by itself, albeit only weak. The strong blow made it lose its rhythm. Clint rolled his eyes and passed out again, but he heard the “I’ll give you a new heart. A better one. One with the spirit of a hawk” before everything went black. It followed him like demons to the place where pain and fear actually had to stay out.

* * *

 

Extremely bright light contracted Clint’s pupils. Some people might have said this was the entrance to heaven. But he knew it better. He wasn’t dead. The feeling of pure disgust and fear signaled that pretty clearly. And if this wasn’t heaven, it had to be the opposite, also known as hell.

The fingers that had opened his eyelids forcefully disappeared. Dots danced in front of his eyes, although Clint had closed them. He was fully aware where he was and what had happened. The bad taste of Daedalus breath inside his mouth caused the urge to retch but Clint suppressed it.

Couldn’t he feel anything else than only disgust and pain? He was so tired of it. With little hope, he listened inside him. To his surprise, there was something else indeed. A weird, queasy feeling in the stomach, chest tightness, not caused by the reanimation, and an inner unrest: he was homesick.

Why the hell was no one searching for him? Why couldn’t his friends burst into the room and just save him from this maniac? Why?

He didn’t have a clue how long he actually had been this guy’s prisoner, but he had quite a lot of experience with injuries. And the way his back had looked like – like a battlefield or as if someone had put him through a meat grinder – and was completely healed now, only covered in big scars and the fact that his nerves had grown together with the metal spoke for itself. He had been here for months, if not even longer. So where the fucking hell were his mates – the mighty heroes? Where were the Avengers when you needed them?

Well, complaining wouldn’t help. Clint’s face darkened. Fine, then he would do it himself.

***

Only a short time later, Clint had found himself enchained in a small inner yard. Daedalus had given him another of his drugged drinks and Clint, still enfeebled from being revitalized, had drunken it without thinking about his vow of not doing it again. So it hadn’t been a problem for Daedalus to change the location to let the sunlight help regenerate Clint’s ruined skin.

Since that day Clint hadn’t taken a single sip of the drug cocktail and it hadn’t been a big problem at first. He was way too distracted from feeling thirsty as he was marveled from his new eyesight. The first time, he had dared to open his eyes, he had sat very still and had blinked quickly before he was brave enough to really open them. Everything had been blurred. He had looked around, seeing just swirls of incoherent colors. The brightness had hurt his eyes. But he had been mentally prepared that he wouldn’t be able to see normal again, so he hadn’t been that shocked about it. He just had been happy that he was able to see at all.

But about a day later, he had gotten used to it. The sight changed. And it changed in a very positive, almost magical way. It was like a haze was removed from his eyes; like he had been all his life blind and just learned that the world had so much more to show than normal humans ever would be able to notice. Amazed, he couldn’t stop fixating objects. Tried to give the bright colors names. Looked up in the sky and wondered how far away he actually could spot something tiny with his new, super-eyes.

Eventually, however, the feeling of dying of thirst went too strong to be ignored. Clint knew he had to act soon as he didn’t need to pretend to be weak anymore. He actually was really quite wobbly on his legs. Only, he couldn’t find a convenient time. And the fact that Daedalus had put a heavy iron chain around his leg as wells as strong magnets on his wings as he was afraid that his bird could hurt him with them – what Clint definitely would have done – didn’t make it easier.

A heated quarrel sealed the decision to escape, no matter how it would end and no matter how far he would make it as long as he would get away from this lunatic:

Genuinely worried, Daedalus looked at his hawk’s arm: “Your arm is not healing well. I think we have to take it off.”

“Yeah, do it. Take it away! S’just my arm. Who cares? That’s what you wanted to do all along anyway, right? Archery? Pshaw, totally overrated.”

Clint jumped angrily up – wrath and fear giving him the strength he actually didn’t have.

Surprised by the resistance, Daedalus flinched and backed off: ”Stop!“

“Why should I? You never stop.” Belligerently, Clint stared at the man who held insecurely a Taser in his hand. But Clint couldn’t be bothered by it. This was about his body. About him being able to do archery again or not.

He made one step closer and lifted his impressive wings as much as the magnets allowed him to. The sun glistened menacingly on the metal, matching the dark glow in his eyes.

“Listen to reason, boy! Your arm really looks bad. I don’t know why.” Cold sweat dripped off Daedalus’ forehead.

Clint laughed cheerlessly. Oh, he knew exactly why it had inflamed. He had sworn to never drink anything from Daedalus again and he had found a way to keep his promise. It had been way too easy to hide that.

Clint’s laugh died. He remembered how Daedalus had stayed in front of him just like he did right now, and how he had tasered him because he hadn’t behaved. The electricity had made his muscles contort painfully. It had been increased by the metal woven inside his body. Helplessly like a stranded fish, he had convulsed on the floor. Spittle had drooled out of his mouth. He had accidentally bitten on his tongue over and over again. Had felt it, but hadn’t been able to stop it as he hadn’t had control over his own body, what also had been the reason for losing control over his bladder. First, he had been ashamed about his wet trousers, but then he had seen the advantage. Whenever Daedalus forced him to drink, he just had to wait till the old man was gone, so he could regurgitate the drugs, vomiting right on his crotch. Not a pleasurable feeling, but the perfect way to get secretly rid of the drugs.

Clint’s malicious grin returned to his lips, causing Daedalus, who couldn’t explain what was going on with his bird, to stumble backward. The old man thought he was so brilliant but he hadn’t noticed that his trousers hadn’t dried in the sun for over four days. Oh, what a genius…

“You wanna know what happened to my arm?” asked Clint and turned the attention back on the red, swollen flesh. “I ripped it open to drink my own blood!” He bared his teeth, looking now like he was the lunatic and not Daedalus who stood ashen-faced in a corner, still holding the Taser unused in his shaking hand.

The archer had known that it wouldn’t end well if he drank his own blood, but his throat had burned like hell in need for a liquid. Just at that moment, a tiny bloodstream had trickled down his arm and he hadn’t been able to turn his greedy eyes away from it. _It’s stupid!_ his mind had warned him. _You can’t survive like this._

No, he really couldn’t. But he could buy himself time. He could make his body believe that it didn’t die of thirst. Maybe not longer than just for a day, but it would be enough time to finally free himself.

So he had hesitantly lowered his head, and had sunken his teeth into his own flesh, ripping the wound just so much open that he could suck on it and feel the warm liquid in his mouth soothing the burning feeling.

This had been just half a day ago. His arm had immediately inflamed afterwards. His immune system simply wasn’t really existent anymore and so the flesh turned faster necrotic than Clint had thought. But who cared?

With relish, he imagined his fist in Daedalus’ face and his face on the floor. However, he didn’t show his thoughts. Slyly, he went backward, falling almost on his knees and said with weak, unsteady voice: “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what came over me. Must be the fever.” He looked like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. „Could you have a look at my arm? Please?”

Inwardly, he prayed: _“Please work. Oh my God, please work!”_

And it did. Daedalus fell for Clint’s acting and came smilingly closer. Before he realized what happened, Clint had already whipped his Taser out of his hand, sat on his tormenter, and thrashed him, till the blood streaming out of Daedalus’ mouth and nose built tiny puddles on the sandy ground. The man underneath Clint didn’t move anymore. All signs of life disappeared.

Clint retreated. He already had killed quite a lot people. That wasn’t anything he boasted about. He preferred keeping it by himself. And if anyone asserted that it would be easier the second time…well, that just wasn’t true. Even the twentieth time it was as difficult as the first time and it wouldn’t be easier to deal with if it was the two hundredth time. But, of course, no one admitted it. And definitely no one who worked in his business. But killing his creator was something different. Yes, the guy had turned his life into hell, and still… Clint nibbled on his lips and heard the man groaning. He raised a brow. This guy was tougher than he had thought.

A moment, he mused whether this was good or bad, but then he delivered a kick and the body of his enemy went limp. Again, he considered what he should do now. Should he simply trample over his head and watch how the mass which had come up with all the atrocities would ooze out? Should he smash every single finger that had executed the cruel fantasies? Or should he set him ablaze so that this guy would know how it was to be burned alive?

Clint let his fingers wander slowly over his skin that was covered in blisters due to the ice burn. The wings twitched uneasily making his gaze fall upon a window that reflected his shape. Curiously, he made a step closer towards it and looked at himself. A silent cry escaped his lips. He stumbled back.

Agitated, he tried to find his wrath again. Tried to come up with what he could do to revenge himself, but in the end, he just wanted to get away. It was a flight of Daedalus but also of himself. The reflection he had seen in the glass…the big eyes of a ravener that had stared back…the scars, the burned flesh, the right arm dangling down only sticking to his body because of a thin layer of skin and some metal clamps…this wasn’t him. This was a despicable monster. A creature everyone would be afraid of. Even he himself.

A tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn’t realize it. He was completely absorbed by the feeling of disgust. He hated what he had become. The monster he had just spotted in the window - he didn’t want to be that and he didn’t want to live like this.

Desperately, he looked up into the bright blue sky and the sun that shined unperturbed by his agony as if she didn’t care. A mild wind came up and stroked soothingly over his burned skin that dangled down in shreds where the blisters had opened.

Overwhelmed by the certainty of finally having the chance to escape, he took a deep breath and concentrated on the feeling how his lungs widened. His moment had come. It was time to let go. Time to deliver himself or whatever was left of him.

He would give his soul a little jump start. What would happen afterwards wasn’t in his hands anymore. Clint stood up and took a run up – as much as the chain around his leg allowed him to. His wings spread just right at the moment when he pushed off from the ground and started to flap immediately as if they had done this all his life.

A jolt went through Clint’s body, yanking him back on the earth. But he didn’t give up. With big, powerful beats, he kept fighting against the chain and the magnets. His body was forcefully stretched and lengthened. It was like being ripped apart. He screamed, hung in the air, flailed with his wings, but didn’t move an inch further away from the ground.

Grimly, he kept fighting against the weight dragging him down. The pain intensified, but so did his will to escape. He collected all his energy. With inhuman strength, he forced  the chains to give in. They were ripped out from its moorings, making Clint swirl through the air like a leaf in the autumn wind. He dodged against a wall. Only with a lot of effort, he could keep himself in the air. Something tugged on his left shoulder. Having a bad hunch, he concentrated on the sensation.

“Oh gosh, please no.” Dismayed, he went from one second to another very pale. „Not now!“ Desperate, he looked up into the sky as if he wanted to ask „What have I done to deserve this?“ The left wing had loosened by his action. The burden had been too big. It hadn’t only felt like being ripped apart. He had done exactly this to himself. Like in slow motion, he realized how a scar on his back opened like a predetermined breaking point, becoming bigger and bigger. The wing was now only connected to hundreds of small nerve cords. It wobbled back and forth in the huge flesh wound, making it even bigger. Blood dripped down, turning into hot streams over his back and Clint believed that he could hear how it hit the ground.

An icy fist reached for his heart. He knew he would lose his left wing. All the God damned time he had tried to make this happen and now…now where he couldn’t need it…now where he really wanted his wings for the first and only time in his life, they let him down – in the truest sense of the word.

One last twinge and the left wing said goodbye to its owner. Clint was too occupied to keep himself in the air with his remaining wing to wonder why it didn’t even hurt at all, although he had just destroyed his nerve cords on his back. Well, maybe that was the answer why it felt that numb.

Not thinking clear his hands clawed into the air as if he could stick to it that way.

Loud clattering, the wing crashed on the ground and this time the noise wasn’t only in his imagination. A moment he halted and looked at the red pulp on the ground. His wing had smashed the unconscious Daedalus, not leaving more left than something indefinable and a twitching hand. Well, if this wasn’t fate…

As the pause of movement caused him to sink very fast, he pulled himself together and fought his way back upwards with gritted teeth and his left arm flapping up and down in a helpless attempt to replace the lost wing.

First, he floundered with his legs to support him arise. But it only brought him out of balance, so he concentrated on his upper body.

He went higher and higher. The air became thinner. The pressure in his ears and lungs grew. The view was breathtaking but he didn’t have the time to enjoy the unbelievable feeling of endless freedom.

Sweat glittered on his forehead and it wasn’t only from his exhausting efforts. The sun came faster close than he had thought. Hadn’t there been a story about a guy that had come too close to the sun? Clint pondered, forgetting to keep his rhythm.

A hundred meters further down, he caught himself and found the answer: Icarus! He had learned that in school. Hadn’t there been another guy as well?

Clint was well aware that his mind just came up with all these questions to distract him from his mortal fear, because although he was ready to die, his body wasn’t. But he didn’t intervene. He just wanted to get as far away from Daedalus as possible. No matter how and…

Wait! Daedalus. Of course! Icarus’ father had been called Daedalus. Clint huffed. Seriously? The name of the doc definitely wasn’t a coincidence.

Grimly, Clint made quickly three strokes of wings and soared even further. Well, if this lunatic wanted to recreate Greek mythology, he could have that. Icarus had been warned not to come too close towards the sun or he would plummet down. But unless Icarus, he didn’t want to escape to live. Not really. He just wanted to find peace and unless Icarus, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he actually had a chance to land safely on the ground.

Not being boisterous, but maybe a little bit rebellious, and with a clearer mind that he had ever before, he made a decision.

Another meter higher and the sun rays were even hotter on his skin. Weekly, Clint grinned. First, it had been burned with ice, now it was burned by heat. Maybe it would have been better if Daedalus improvement of his eyes would have failed and he wouldn’t have been able to see himself. His skin condition alone was a horrible sight –let alone the rest of his body.

It didn’t take long and Clint was very, very exhausted. He had no idea where he had ended up and how long he already was flying. It felt like hours, but it also could have been just a couple of minutes. He only hoped he had made it far enough away from Daedalus when he would do what Icarus had done involuntarily a long time before him.

A moment, he paused. Should he really do it? He could try to land safely. But he knew it wouldn’t work. He didn’t have enough energy left and underneath him was nothing but water. In the end, he was well aware that it was just a bad excuse. He could keep fighting if he really wanted. But if he was honest with himself, he simply didn’t want to go on living like this, being half a cripple and half a monster. Someone whose love for a particular woman never would be returned.

Clint couldn’t carry on any longer. He always had wondered if he would realize the point where it wasn’t worth fighting anymore as he was a fighter who actually never gave up. But now, it was so easy. It was beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the moment.

He wasn’t afraid. His mind didn’t go numb to spare him from having to go through this fully aware. Quite the contrary. He had never felt so clear like right now. Smiling, he opened his arms. “It’s time.” He was ready. He stopped struggling with the wing. Simply let go.

Rapidly, he approached the earth. Still, he had his arms wide opened as if he wanted to embrace it. Anyone who would have looked up into the sky would have seen a fallen angel being abandoned from heaven. A couple of times, Clint spun over, but it wasn’t enough to wipe his faint smile of his lips. He only tensed his muscles to turn himself around so that he was falling with his back first down as he wanted to see the sun shining unperturbed down on him for the last time.

 _“That’s more than I ever hoped I would get; that I would get to die outside with my face to the sky,”_ thought Clint and raised his face even more towards the sun. The happiness inside him grew. At least his dying wish was fulfilled. There wouldn’t have been anything worse than dying in a dark hole, without having seen the sky within months. Oh no. And if he would have had to fight his way out knowing that he would die immediately after having left his cage, he would have done it without hesitating.

Huge waves closed in on him. They held death in their wet hands. Clint was well aware of that but wasn’t afraid. Water broke over him and pressed him under the surface. As fast as he had fallen towards earth, he sank. The leftover metal wing accelerated it even more. But he didn’t panic. Didn’t struggle. Didn’t fight his way back towards the surface. It was over. Clint knew that. He had been a fighter. Hadn't done anything else during his whole life. The fight had already started when he had been a little boy and it hadn’t ended as an adult. Just had changed the focus. Or well, actually, not even that. He had always fought to survive. But not any longer. He gave up and he wasn’t ashamed of it. It was his decision which made him feel even a little bit exalted. He wasn’t a loser. He was a winner as he still made his own choice in a situation you actually didn’t have one.

But what would his friends say? Would they be sad? Or would they shake their heads about his inability to save himself?

And what was with the tiny, silver arrow shaped ring? The one he had wanted to put on Natasha’s finger to prove their eternal love. He hadn’t found the courage to give it to her, although, he was carrying it around for over two years now.

Clint flailed with his arms. He had to do it. He had to tell her! But then his body went limp. Why should he? He was a monster. No one loved a monster. If he really loved Nat, he should spare her his horrible sight. And why should he keep going without his source of strength - the one person that had given his life a meaning?

Clint sank deeper and deeper into the abyss. With wide opened eyes, he looked up, trying to see the sunlight as long as possible. His body was whirled around and twisted in an awkward posture. It was almost like he was a doll that was carelessly tossed around.

Finally, his feet touched the sandy ocean bed. His fall into the black had found an end. The wing hit the ground and became entangled in something that fixated him on the spot in a way that he was softly swayed back and forth by the flow but couldn’t get away. Sand graced sharp over his sore skin that burned and hurt like thousands needles pierced his body thanks to the salty water.

The thought that this was the moment he should panic popped into his mind but he didn’t.

Instead, air bubbles escaped his mouth when he gave a liberated laugh in the knowledge of having reached the end of his journey. They danced funny in front of his nose. So this was how his life ended. Well, he would have bet to be shot by a Hydra agent. But did it make a difference? Dead was dead.

Water filled his lungs and he took a deep breath to get over with it faster. He didn’t feel pain. Actually, he didn’t feel anything at all. And although it might sound weird, this might have been the best feeling he had ever felt in his entire life.

The darkness on the deep ground swallowed him up and he readily surrendered himself to it.

_Up there is the sky. It’s all fine. You’ve made it._

Clint closed his eyes for one last time and smiled.

* * *

 

“Hey! There’s something in the fish trap! Something big… Oh my God!”

The fishermen stared aghast at their catch. Next to fish and some other sea dwellers, their haul contained something they had never seen before. Something that looked like a man with a bent wing and bruised, swollen skin, a smile on his blue lips and huge wounds all over his body lay motionless in their small boat.

“That… that’s an angel!” The guy with a beanie on his bald head whispered awestricken and crossed himself.

“Haud yer wheesht! Yer aff yer heid!” barked the captain with broad Scottish dialect. Beanie didn’t dream of shutting up and complained: “I’m not crazy! Look!”

“Does it still live?” asked one of the men who hadn’t said anything so far anxiously and searched for cover behind the broad shoulders of another man who was braver than him. The captain bowed down and poked their find carefully between the ribs with the handle of his knife he usually used for gilling fish.

“Ah dinna ken.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sings: I’m just a man. Not a superhuman. I need a hero to save me now. A hero’ll save me just in time*  
> Promised is promised. You wanted the Avengers to appear and they will (at least Nat or Tony; maybe more). And before you complain “but Clint already saved himself”, let me put it this way: nope. Hell is waiting.  
> (Originally, I wanted Nat to find Clint when he’s “optimized” by Daedalus again. She should have come into the room right at the moment when Daedalus holds Clint’s heart in his hands to swap it with a better one. Gosh, I would have loved describing this scenario - a festival of pure horror and insanity. But Daedalus never could have done this on his own and not without special equipment. And I wanted to see Clint fly. So it wasn’t possible… Anyway, hope you liked the chosen version :))  
> Not to forget: “That’s more than I ever hoped I would get; that I would get to die outside with my face to the sky.” is a quote from Ranni’s wonderful story “Strong enough”. She allowed me to use it. (Thanks! You are awesome!!) Check her fictions out. You will be blown away by her talent!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, don’t get a heart attack. As I’ve already told someone of you: it always gets worse before it’s getting better… ;) Oh, and who knows which movie I’ve quoted so shamelessly in the chap gets a pair of imaginary, handmade wings by Daedalus ;p

Upset paced the woman who was dressed completely in black up and down. Tears glittered in her eyes but she forbade herself to cry. Her friend wouldn’t have wanted her to do that. A couple of times she stopped right in her motion, froze, looked up like she wanted to say something but not a single sound escaped her lips which she had pressed so tight together that they turned white. She did not only not trust her voice, she also was at a loss for words. So she just kept walking restlessly through the room, passing the Captain who leaned with a black look and crossed arms against a wall and Tony who wasn’t more than a picture of misery, sitting sunken on a chair. Nothing remembered of the billionaire's easy, at the first glance even kind of shallow personality. The guy who always found a solution and never worried more than absolutely necessary shrunk under the aggressive look of reproach with which Steve burned him down, seeming to ask: “How dared you to do that?”

Nervously, Tony let his hands wander to his arc reactor and fiddled about. He could understand that his friends were mad at him. No, not mad. Not only. Also disappointed and mostly shocked. But he had had his reasons for doing what he had done and they should at least listen before they judged him. It couldn’t be undone anyway. A big lump built in his throat and he dug his fingers into the armrest.

“I… When I’ve found Clint… You don’t know how this was like.”

Steve’s eyes shot up. Searched for Tony’s. But the billionaire avoided him, continuing talking now rather with himself than with the Captain and Natasha.

“His whole body was burned. His skin hung down in shreds – at least where skin was left. Everything else was just huge wounds held together by scars. A giant piece of metal stuck in his back. It…it…” He couldn’t go on when he remembered how he had found his colleague. With shaking hand, he reached for a bottle of whiskey and took a mouthful, ignoring the Captain’s contempt that was only noticeable due to his flaring nostrils. The rest was just a stony-faced mask.

“His right arm was the worst. Terribly inflamed. Festering. Bone sticking out. Barely attached to what was left of his body. Like it was only clued to it by his blood and pus that kept trickling down.”

Tony took another sip, staring into the golden liquid that washed the upcoming feeling of sickness away.

“I thought he was dead. He had to be. No one could survive such a condition. But his eyes were open. Gosh, those eyes.”

He swallowed. This look of his mate would follow him in his worst and darkest dreams. Never would he forget that mixture of pain and acceptance in a pair of eyes that didn’t belong to his mate and still were part of him. But yeah, maybe this acceptance - that he would die - was even worse than the indescribable agony he must have suffered.

Tony felt little daggers in his heart and the room seemed to have run all of a sudden out of air when he thought back how he had reacted. Clint had stood there and he – he had run towards him as fast as he had been able, only to flinch back when Clint had looked up at him. His colleague had needed a friend. Someone who comforted him. Someone who told him that his agony was over. Someone who let him know that he was save; that his family got his back. But he had only shown him the one thing he hadn’t needed right now: repulse. He could still slap himself for showing so openly that he was taken aback by Clint’s sight. Oh, he didn’t want to remember that moment. Just get over it as fast as possible.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? He should have been dead but he was alive. His heart beat. He lifted his head. Started speaking. Not with his voice. He tried but was too weak. His eyes though…”

Tony shifted uneasily, teared up and for a while, he and Nat watched each other how they fought with the flood that dared to run down their faces any second. He felt how he was about to lose the silent battle of whom of them could pretend longer to be strong, lowered his head and pressed his lips together – again being a perfect copy of Natasha.

Staring at his hands that wandered restlessly from his arc reactor to the whiskey and back to the reactor, he continued finally: “You know? The pain…the pain must have been so excruciating.”

He paused again and sniveled silently. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Steve sitting down, burying his head in his hands, covering his ears for a second by doing so as if he didn’t want to hear anything more of it. Tony also didn’t miss how the Captain blamed himself for not being there for their archer. But this time, the dark-haired didn’t make fun about the mumsy behavior of the first Avenger. He was empty of jokes and puns that usually popped faster in his mind than he could think.

The tension in the room got more and more unbearable. He knew he had to keep explaining why he had done what he had done. That was why they were here. But he couldn’t. Just kept drinking and drinking, hoping that the whiskey would show its effect soon. He just wanted to forget. Silently, he brought out a toast to his favorite Legolas.

The expensive liquid was spilled all over his arm when he was suddenly grabbed by his collar. Long, slender fingers found their way to his neck, choking and shaking him at the same time.

“You killed him. You killed Hawkeye! And now you are sitting here, drinking like nothing happened.” Nat’s shrill, cracking voice was an extreme contrast to Tony’s whispered words. A couple of Russian curses and accusations followed. Nat didn’t even notice that she had changed the language. But although neither Tony nor Steve were able to speak her mother tongue, the message was clear.

Still, Tony barely reacted to Natasha’s attack that left immediately bruises on his neck. But when she let go of him and sank crying on the ground, he couldn’t hold back anymore and did so too.

Only with problems, he somehow managed to stutter: “I keep telling myself that this was the right thing to do and that…that’s…well…yeah...” He broke off and scratched his head that he kept nodding like he wanted to convince himself that it had been right indeed. But then he shook it. “I’m not so sure about it anymore.”

Steve’s sad expression turned faster back into his intimidating angry mode than Tony would have been able to say “old man” if he had wanted to. The Captain didn’t say a word. He needn’t. His whole posture yelled at Tony: “You are not so sure about it anymore?! Seriously?! Why can’t you use your brain just for once _before_ you act?”

Tony had enough. That wasn’t fair. Anger crawled up from the depth of his body. Wouldn’t it have been such an inappropriate moment, he would have picked a quarrel with the Captain. He would have asked him where the “God’s righteous man” had been when Clint had needed him. Would have asked what he would have done in his stead. Would have asked how he could judge him whilst Steve himself had let glide his best friend through his hands, watching him fall to death. He wanted to yell at him that this wasn’t any better than what he had done. That this was even worse. But he didn’t. Instead, he did his best to stay calm. Not an easy task at all.

“I didn’t do what Clint asked me for.”

“Oh yeah? Why am I not surprised?” interrupted Natasha. “Why didn’t you do it?”

“Because he was begging me to…”

Tony ran his fingers through his hair and bit his lip. No way he would say what his favorite bird had asked him for. Natasha’s heart was already broken. That was enough for a long time. No more shatters needed. The young woman should keep her best friend always in her mind as the guy he was: a good bro that was sometimes a little bit grumpy, but in the end totally in love with life no matter how much it sucked from time to time. The archer’s request was something that should stay a secret between him and Clint forever. He didn’t have the courage to speak it out loud anyway.

“But when I saw him last night… The look on his face… He just wanted me to take his pain away and that’s what I did. I took his pain away as good as I could. If you blame me for that…”

“You!” Nat jumped enraged up and screeched: “You are the reason why Hawkeye is no longer! You destroyed Clint.” Threateningly, she came closer. “How could you? There must have been a better solution. You are a genius. You could have found a way!”

“He couldn’t have lived. Not like this.”

“Oh, are you a doctor now?”

“I…”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve learned it yesterday night!” Natasha flashed angrily at him. Tony winced and flinched back. The former spy was already deadly dangerous when she just did her job. But when she got personally and emotionally involved, no one who loved his life should get in her way.

“You could have saved…”

Strong arms dragged her into a tight hug, making her fall silent.

“It’s enough. We can’t turn back time.”

Carefully, Steve stroked over her hair and cradled her soothingly back and forth, ignoring her fists that hammered in sorrow and helplessness against his chest. His words were just a cold comfort. Steve was well aware of that. But he hadn’t the strength to come up with something better. He felt a little bit like sitting on the fence. Natasha was right. What Tony had done was horrible and he might have found a better solution. On the other side… He looked at Tony and was glad not to be in his shoes. Still, he admired him somewhat for his decision. If Steve was honest, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to do the same. And this incertitude could have made it just even more gruesome for their archer. So maybe it really was better this way, wasn’t it?

Tony stood slowly up. He swayed. The alcohol finally started to work, reached his head and clouded the thoughts that followed him unrelentingly since yesterday when he had made a decision he had never wanted to do. Those thoughts would never go away. Even if twenty years would have passed. Natasha wasn’t the only one who blamed him for his doings. He hated himself for it. And still… Tony gazed into space, mouthing voicelessly: “I only did what I thought was truly right, you know?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“Never let them break your wings. Oh, don’t you know you’re beautiful, you magic little thing? You are you because you have your scars”_ \- SA  
>  Clint is a little bit confused thanks to flashbacks. Hope you are not.  
> Have a nice day and lots of fun reading this chap :)

_-about one day before_

Clint sat on a bed. Soft pillows around him gave him the support he needed to don’t fall over. His lungs and the rest of his body seemed to lead a battle which part could burn worse. But he didn’t pay attention to it. He just sat there, fixating his eyes on the blanket without even noticing that it was there, staring with unseeing eyes through it.

Flies buzzed around him, decoyed by the pestering smell of the decaying flesh of his right arm. One dared to crawl over the wound, its little trunk curiously groping over the part that wasn’t completely black yet. It better shouldn’t have done that. Not because Clint hushed it away. As less as he noticed the surrounding around him, as less attention he paid to the uninvited guest. The fly went all by itself into the trap, getting stuck in the viscous mix of blood and wound fluid, fluttering now helplessly with its tiny wings, not being able to get away anymore.

He had been so close. So damned close.

Clint furrowed his brows. Close to what? He couldn’t remember. _Salvation_ whispered a voice in his head. But salvation of what?

The emptiness in front of his eyes was replaced with huge waves that broke over him. He tasted salt on his tongue. Blue, black and gray colors whirled around him, seeming to drag him down. In a reflex, he opened his mouth, gasped for air and lifted his arms like he tried to get back on the surface. The gap in his arm opened and closed, swallowing the little fly that still fought for its life like Clint believed to do too. The buzzing broke off as well as the picture of the ocean and the feeling of drowning did.

Again, nothing was left but emptiness, and the constant pain in the background that had become so normal like for other people brushing their teeth. Oh, no, actually there was something else. Clint listened inside him. Fear. But again? Fear of what? Why?

 _„No, no, no. That’s not working!“_ An angry voice reached his ears. A scalpel sliced along his back, orientating its way on his spine. Fingers dug into the gap and ripped impatiently the wound further open. They burrowed deeper. Clint could hear himself scream. – Screams that were drowned out by the voice out of nowhere: _„Stop moving, stupid bird.“_ Metal was inserted, carefully pushed through flesh and muscles into place, fixated with screws at his scapulae. The cold, piercing feeling was immediately expelled by blazing hotness which melted the material inextricable into skin and bones. Though it didn’t help Clint forgetting the awful noise the drill had made. It kept resounding in his ears. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Basically a good idea. However, it ended in a coughing attack as he inhaled the sharp bone powder that was in the air now.

“Can you move your legs?” Clint nodded, not being able to make a sound anymore. “Prove it.” But Clint couldn’t. His legs felt except for the little tingling completely numb. Almost like non-existent. They simply sagged away as soon as he tried to do a step. _“Damn,”_ cursed the voice behind him. _„Starting over again.“_ A scalpel sliced along his skin. It was torn apart. The metal was taken out and replaced by new one.

Clint was stock-still. Inside him raged the pure horror of flashbacks that were more or less coherent but appeared terribly real. But nothing of it was visible on the outside. He didn’t dare to move a muscle. Daedalus had forbidden him to do so. It was dangerous. Could make the procedure start all over again and… Daedalus!

Now, Clint did a little jump nevertheless and regretted it immediately. Groaning, he sank back into the cushions. He remembered a glass cage. But this wasn’t glass. And it wasn’t the hard metal of an operating table. For the first time, he looked around, paying attention to where he was. It was dark, but that didn’t trouble him. Everything appeared like on a dull summer day with his new eyes. A little room, obviously a bedroom, appeared in his vision. Not modern but in the nice rustic-style of an old fisherman’s house. How the hell did he end up here? Was this scenery real at all? He wasn’t so sure about it.

“C’mon, boy! Don’t die!“ Pressure on his chest made him spit out salty water. He coughed and sank feebly back. Lips were pressed on his. Hot, stinking breath filled his lungs.

Clint clenched his fists into the blanket. Tears glittered in his eyes. That couldn’t be true. His memory lied to him. It had to. He had been only once reanimated in his life. And his savior back then had been at the same time his destroyer: Daedalus. He hadn’t a picture of this guy in his mind. Only connected him with incredible pain. But it couldn’t be true that he was still with him. Hadn’t he felt the wind on his wings? Hadn’t he almost touched the sun and kissed the seabed – all just to get away? Hadn’t he drowned in the ocean?

He tried to find proof that this hadn’t been just vivid fantasy. That this had been more than a wish. But all his mind showed him was the moment when he had been brought back to life after taking the icy shower given to him by said Daedalus.

So that was all. Clint swallowed. He had never been away. He had never been flying. Never had died in freedom. Just almost had been killed by a puddle. He huffed. Well, that figured. If he ever would have bet with someone who of them would die in the most embarrassing way, losing sanity, everyone would have pointed at him. For sure. He didn’t trust his mind anymore, but that and that he couldn’t go on like this were the two thoughts he knew were true.

Clint sniveled distressed. Why? Why didn’t this guy leave him be?

Despite his sheer desperation, Clint noticed a creak and a small ray of light wander over him before it disappeared when the door snapped shut with a silent click. Alarmed, he tensed.

Tiny, hushed steps went towards his bed. Clint didn’t feel like greeting his visitor and stayed in his sunken position. Only from the corner of his eyes, he saw a little boy standing half curiously, half afraid next to him. Was that Daedalus? Clint slid a little bit to the other side of the bed making the distance between them bigger. Just in case. Only now he realized his weirdly twisted leg. Moaning, he pulled it to his new sitting place. His right wing wrapped around his upper body, building protectively a wall between him and his guest.

Silence filled the room again, being only interrupted by the big eyes that Clint felt lying upon him. This couldn’t be the guy he was so afraid of. Hell, this was a kid. Could be his son if he would have managed to start a family.

Son! Of course. Daedalus had a son, right? What was his name? Icarus? Must be him. That was the last evidence that he really was still with his tormentor.

Clint shifted, becoming nervous. He didn’t know how to react. What did you say to the child of the man who used you as his private project?

The boy began to speak, helping him out of his misery: “Are you an angel? The adults are saying so.” Now it was up to him, playing nervously with the action figure he held in his small hands, waiting for an answer of the creature that sat on his parent’s bed.

The kid stumbled scared backward, a silent cry escaping his mouth when it looked up, setting its eyes on him. Quickly, he pressed his hands on his mouth. Those weren’t the eyes of a human being. The shape of the pupils… He had never seen something like this before. With growing fear, he clenched even more onto his figurine. His pride and joy. His parents had saved up for a long time for fulfilling his wish of owning an astonishing lifelike puppet of his favorite hero. Even in the dim light, the red and golden colors of the shining armor flashed slightly.

Clint didn’t say anything. He didn’t miss the fear of the boy. It hurt him more than the physical pain that had become his constant companion. He would have loved to still the child’s fear by answering the question. But he didn’t know who he was. That was a terrifying realization. At the same time, he was embarrassed for it. Who didn’t know such a simple thing? Clint blushed and wished that someone would enter the room, calling him by his name, so he could hide his memory lapse. But of course, no one came and terrible headaches prevented him from thinking about it himself. The way the boy looked at him made him feel like a monster parents told their kids at night.

He frowned. That sentence. He had used it recently. Why? When? Was he such a monster?

“Tell me who you are!” The boy got a little bit gutsier, seeing that the totally confused man’s movements were limited by his bad conditions.

_“Tell me who you are!”_

_“Um, Clint Barton?” Clint knew exactly that this wasn’t the answer Daedalus wanted but what he wanted to hear was just so damned wrong._

_“Wrong.” The typical sound that a Taser made filled the room, followed by Clint’s choking screams when he stiffened and toppled to the ground, twitching uncontrollably but being completely cognizant of what was going on. The pain hadn’t left his body when he was already asked again: “Who are you?”_

_Stubbornly, Clint spat on the floor: “Clint Francis Barton.”_

_“Wrong.” The archer convulsed again painfully. Even when the Taser was removed, leaving only two tiny red marks that didn’t attract attention on Clint’s skin that was colored in all colors of a rainbow, it seemed like the electricity rushed through his body, up and down the metal along his spine. Many shocks later, he didn’t know anything at all anymore. Only had the words “Clint Barton” and “Hawkeye” in his mind. And whenever he said the former, pain followed. So he drooled: “Hawkeye?” and ducked anxiously away._

_“Almost.” The electricity buzzed threateningly but didn’t touch him. “Shorter.”_

_“Hawk? I’m a… a hawk?” Contented, Daedalus ruffled through the hair of the man down to his feet. “Good bird. And from now on we call this bird Angel.”_

Angel! That’s it! He was Angel.

The boy had watched in awe the facial play of the stranger, but when he sensed fear and agony, he didn’t hesitate a second and reached with his fingers for Clint’s. Carefully, he laid the way bigger hand of the man into his. Not having expected such a soft touch, Clint flinched. His ruined skin was taut and hurt by the soothing strokes. Still, he relaxed. He hadn’t felt someone treating him like this – like a human being, not a property or creature in a long time. Only now he realized how much he had missed it. So could he be a monster at all when he longed for something like that?

The boy looked blatantly at his single wing and asked fascinated: “May I?”

Clint didn’t answer, but his wing opened up a little bit, showing the wonderful feathering. The kid took this for a yes, crawled on the bed and let his fingers glide awestricken over the metal that was salt-caked and a little bit bent but otherwise in a quite good condition.

„What happened to your other wing?“ Again, Clint didn’t react. Only stared at the wall, avoiding the glances of the boy.

Undeterred, the kid kept babbling: “You remind me of someone. He wasn’t an angel, but a good guy.“ He knitted his brow and scrutinized Clint. It made the impression like it cost all his courage to say what he wanted to say as he didn’t want an angel to be mad at him – just in case that strange guy really was an angel. Maybe angels didn’t like it to be compared with normal people. “He was a good friend of my favorite hero.“ The figurine was swirled proudly through the air as if Iron Man just did a complicated maneuver, saving the world once again. “But he disappeared. Mr. Stark is pretty worried about him. Saw it in the media. He said that they don’t know if he is still alive. Maybe you have seen him in heaven? If so, we should tell Mr. Stark. He left everywhere his number in case someone knows where his friend is. His name was…“

A hand lay heavily on the boy’s shoulder and dragged him out of the room. A short while Clint could hear angry voices but couldn’t figure out what it was about. Then it went silent again, leaving Clint back alone once more. Not for long though.

Enraged voices were on the other side of the door. This time coming closer. Clint tilted his head. A dispute.

„No, I don’t let you visit him!“ Something not understandable followed. The mumbling grew louder.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid!”

The voice. The dialect. Hadn't it been there when he had been reanimated? Did Daedalus want to see him?

“I said no! Give me a break!” It seemed like a chair fell clattering to the ground, followed by a thud that Clint could easily identify as a precise hit into someone’s face.

The growing turmoil jolted Clint out of his twilight state just at the moment when the door was pushed open and a group of people bounced in.

A man yelled: “That’s the guy!” Clint didn’t understand what was going on. Of course, it was him. Who else did his creator expect? Confused, he noticed only the hostility against him already before he was grabbed by his arm and shaken. “Who are you?”

Aww, not that game again.

The words “Clint” formed on his tongue.

“Tell me who you are!”

Clint’s muscles convulsed. His entire body fought against the combination of letters, his brain signalizing acute danger, but he couldn’t figure out why as no one leveled a weapon at him. There was another word burned into his mind, however, which he connected with praise. Insecurely, he tried: “Angel.”

Aodh silenced the outcry that was caused by that answer with a harsh gesture. He couldn’t believe it. Only half an hour ago he had been sitting in the village pub, downing as always a few pints. For some more free beer, he had shared his story of his odd haul, of course, embellishing it here and there – that’s how spinning yarns worked. Although it wouldn’t have been necessary this time.

***

_“…his eyes blistered and he aimed for us with his gigantic wings! Almost smashed my best men. At the last moment, I could stop him from doing so. Wasn’t easy. That guy was damned strong.” He took a gulp of the beverage that someone pushed towards him and continued with the broad Scottish dialect that was typical in this area: “The whole crew was barely able to subdue him. My men feared for their lives. Our boat dared to capsize but under my leadership, we tamed that creature. We were able to rip one of his wings out and jettisoned it before he could kill us with it.”_

_Aodh looked up and enjoyed the admiring looks upon him. Better he didn’t mention that this poor guy actually hadn’t been able to breathe on his own and when he finally had, had moaned and whined over and over again to “don’t do it”. Through the entire resuscitation, this strange dude had slipped into and out of unconsciousness, whimpering “Please, no. Let me die!” whenever he had been able to._

_Someone else in the pub who had sat in a dark corner and had only listened with gloomy expression so far stood up and let his stein crash on the bar. He was obviously drunk as his glassy eyes, his red nose, and clumsy movements gave away._

_“I tell you what! This guy is dangerous! I saw him in the news. His name is Archangel.” He spat out._

_First, Aodh laughed about the well-known alcoholic. But then he thought about it. How many men with metal wings existed? Only one. And that one had been last seen crashing into the ocean._

_Shocked by the revelation that he really had been in mortal danger, Aodh passed out – something he, later on, would try to justify with having drunken too much alcohol. Everyone knew this name – Archangel. How couldn’t he have realized who this man was?_

_As soon as he was conscious again, he joined the incensed mob that went to the house where Beanie, as everyone called the first mate, lived and had accommodated the guy who had - along with Apocalypse and his other horsemen - tried to wipe out humanity in order for the rise of mutant supremacy._

***

It was the famous calm before the storm. Then everything went pretty quickly. Before Clint could follow his flight instinct and turn round, he was grasped by a couple of men, thrown down the bed, and dragged out of the room. His sore skin slid over the ground, leaving red strips on the floor.

Clint screamed in agony. Reared up but was pressed immediately on the ground. Someone kicked him, aiming at his head which was violently swirled to the side. Blood streamed out of his nose. The other men joined in. Soon Clint couldn’t tell up from down. Without avail, he tried to protect himself. He was able to see even the fastest movements crystal clear. They didn’t appear blurred at all like every other human would have seen them. It just didn’t help, as his body couldn’t react fast enough. Scraps of conversations reached his ears. “The wing! He can shoot metal feathers out of it! Tear it out!“

„No!“ Clint yelped. A foot was braced against his back. The concussions of the ripping on his wing went through his whole body as waves of pure agony. Helplessly, Clint writhed on the floor. Someone stepped accidentally, or maybe intentionally, on his injured arm which he tried to drag away quickly. It made an awful noise - almost like fabric was torn apart – the result was an arm that was even less connected to his body than already before.

At the same time, the tugging and ripping at his back didn’t stop. Though the wing was steady as a rock. The way it had been interwoven by Daedalus it couldn’t be removed that simply. The doctor might have been sloppy with the left one but not with the right. Either the men would tear out Clint’s spine and right shoulder blade along with the wing or it would continue being a part of the archer.

Of course, the flesh wasn’t as strong as the metal. Clint felt something sticky trickling down his back. A feeling that had become quite familiar. The first precursors of a huge wound that would break open.

Terrified, he whimpered: “But I told ya, I’m Angel.” He couldn’t understand why he was punished as he told them what they wanted to hear. The men stopped in their doing for a second, looked at each other and continued thrashing their victim even more brutal, ignoring the appalled “Gosh, no, what are you doing? Stop it!” from Beanie who threw his hands up in horror and watched the scenario through the eye that wasn’t a fresh, bright shiner.

Only Aodh turned grimly around. “Don’t you know who that is? He just told you. He is Archangel. The guy who followed Apocalypse. He gets the treatment he has earned.“ Full of abhorrence his fist shattered Clint’s jaw with one perfectly aimed blow. Then he tugged the half-unconscious Clint on the metal necklace which he still wore from the time he had been with Daedalus. “We are going to burn him.” Bloodlust flashed dangerously in his eyes.

The mob agreed. Soon the whole village, except for Beanie’s family, was screaming: “Burn him!”

No one paid attention to the little kid that had thrown himself into the arms of his daddy, seeking shelter from the gruesome chaos. He wetted his father’s shirt when he cried barely understandable: “Daddy, I don’t like it. Stop them doing this! That’s not Angel. That’s…“

„I know my son.“ Beanie stroked worried over his kid’s head, not really listening. What just happened in his living room wasn’t anything a child should see. No, actually it was something no one should ever see.

His boy freed himself from the hug. “That’s not Angel! He has completely different hair. And his hands. Look at it. Don’t you see? These are the hands of an archer! This is…“ But no one listened to him – what did a kid know? He was grabbed by his mother and dragged out of the room. In leaving, he screamed with his silvery voice: “That’s Hawkeye! I found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to slowly come to an end. – Better for Clint and better for my sanity ;) (Hell, I started googling stuff like ‘How does cut bone smell?’, watched eye operations and how fracture fixations work. Even have compiled a library of articles of drowning experiences, how it feels like being tased,…. Really should stop this.)  
> So yeah… enough agony. It’s time to “cheer up”. About one or two chaps to go and that’s it. So next time we’ll see what Tony really has done to Clint and the aftermath of it (if I don’t split it into an extra chap…) And before you go crazy: yes, it’s gonna be a happy ending – as happy an ending can be after such events… ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> „Is this the region, this the soil, the clime, said then the lost Archangel, this the seat that we must change for Heaven, this mournful gloom for that celestial light?” – Paradise Lost

Heat enveloped him. Heat of indescribable enormity. Only silently crackled dry wood under his feet. Though the fire spat quite loudly. Clint inhaled a mouthful of smoky air and opened his eyes. He found himself standing on an improvised stake. His hands were bound behind his back around a wooden pole. A circle shaped firewall surrounded him. With every breath he took, it seemed to grow bigger and to come inch by inch closer. Ember flew like dark glowing snow around him, singeing everything where it settled down.

It took him a moment till he went aware of the danger and tugged full of panic on his bonds. Adrenaline raced through his body. The dizziness disappeared in the blink of an eye. A moaning escaped his distorted lips when a sharp pain flashed through his right arm and brought him almost down on his knees. Almost. He was bound in a way that he couldn’t do anything but stand upright - a little bit like a proud warrior who faced death with dignity. Only Clint wasn’t such a warrior. He just wanted to get the hell out of here.

He darted about like mad and made out the outlines of people standing around his podium. He screwed up his eyes and shook his throbbing head in the hope to see clearer. But it was the smoke and the air shimmering in the heat that made it impossible to make out any details.

Confused and frightened, he kept staring through the firewall. What had he done to end up here?

_“Burn him!”_ echoed angry yells in his ears. The heat grew stronger as if he just remembered that he was standing on a giant stake. But it was more likely that it got hotter simply because the fire found ravenously its way closer to his feet.

The already unbearable temperature rose and rose. Clint had the impression it melted his brain away. At least, he couldn’t think straight. Though it was just the fear that got a hold of him. Everything he had once learned as a Shield-agent was forgotten. However, to be fair, he had no idea that he used to be a highly trained agent. He wasn’t even entirely sure about his name. So, no one could blame him to be a bad one right now.

Sweat glittered on his forehead and ran into his eyes where it burned unpleasantly. Clint huffed. As if his burning eyes were his only problem. Soon something else would burn and that couldn’t be fixed with rubbing over it.

Desperately, he gasped for air and coughed when he inhaled the smoke. His tear-dimmed eyes wandered up to the sky and again, like not that long ago, the sun shined unperturbedly down on him. He closed dazzled his eyes and thought how ironic it was to shine so bright as if this was a day of joy. She should avert her countenance at the sight of so much cruelty. But the sun didn’t. As if she liked watching him suffer. As if it was a sport of her to put the spots on him to show the world how he failed over and over again. Clint understood that she never would get tired of it till he would be safe of her, six feet under. Couldn’t it just simply start to rain? Of course, it couldn’t.

Clint didn’t believe in God. Not really. But if there existed one, it was a good moment to show up and make a miracle happen.

His already severely damaged skin started to blister. Clint screwed his face but was too proud to scream. Determined, he stared into the flames which appeared in an extra bright color. He wondered if it was because of his new lenses or because he looked death into its ugly eyes that made everything else fade away. Whatever. He wouldn’t do – whoever did this to him – the favor. If he had to die, he would do it with his head held high. A second, he was astounded over this thought and how calloused it was. But then a grim look stole on his face and he straightened his back, ignoring the pain. Maybe there was more of the proud warrior inside him than he had thought.

_Don’t fight battles that are long over._

He didn’t know where this voice came from, if it was real or just in his thoughts. And he didn’t know who this voice belonged to. But he did know that it was right.

Here he was standing. A monster that he had become. Not knowing with certainty who he was. A wing and almost an arm missing. His meaning of life gone. Why keep struggling?

The first flames of the fire reached his feet.

* * *

 

Hundreds of miles away fell a spoon clinking into a bowl. Soup splashed around, leaving tomato red stains on the carpet and sofa. Nat jumped up, holding the remote controller of the TV still in her hand. She watched breaking news. A live broadcast. The footage was jittery. Apparently, a private person streamed it and had somehow found access to one of the big news channels of the country. But Nat didn’t care how this person had made it. All that was important was that they had found him. “Clint!” She was absolutely sure about it, although the man was hidden behind a dark smoke cloud and barely identifiable as her best friend as his face was so contorted that it was rather a grotesque grimace than a human visage. His body looked like a giant kid had played with a doll and completely destroyed it. Fire reached up to his legs and built little pillars that wandered upwards his legs. His expression appeared other-worldly.

He didn’t take notice of the crowd standing around him, yelling mean things at him. As well as he didn’t flinch when one of the people threw a bottle towards him that left a cut on his forehead which was commented with spontaneous applause. The bottle, filled with booze, broke and caused a blue darting flame.

Nat shrieked. The remote controller slipped out of her hand and shattered down to her feet. Her heart stopped beating for a moment. Then her professional side kicked in and made her run, however like in trance, towards a Quinjet. He still lived. But Nat didn’t feel the pure relief of getting this message she longed for since days.

She sped up, telling herself that she could make it. That HE could make it. Right?

* * *

 

Fire coiled around Clint’s ankles like red and orange snakes. Aggressively hissing, they found their way upwards, carrying the toxic smell of death with them. But Clint wasn’t afraid of them. Not as much as he should be. His trousers were made of a special material that didn’t burn that easily, but he could feel the immense heat through the fabric. It wouldn’t be long in coming till it couldn’t protect his extremities anymore. And still, it was the nagging uncertainty if he was punished for something he had done and therefore had earned it or if he was innocent that sneaked into his mind like a poisoning snake that was way crueler than its companions down to his legs.

Automatically, Clint got on his tiptoes. His wing beat as good as it could, helping him minimizing the contact with the smoldering ground. Not to escape the fire though. That would have been a childish attempt. But to buy him time. He didn’t know why he needed this time. It only would prolong his suffering. And hadn’t he just settled his affairs? Kind of? Maybe it was the last rebellion of his body. Sometimes the mind and the body weren’t in unison. The former was already one step ahead whilst the latter still couldn’t accept to say goodbye.

Clint panted and breathed as shallow as possible. The hot fumes scorched his lungs. It hurt like hell when he felt how it swelled and blistered on the inside. A scream escaped his mouth. One of which he was sure would be hearable all over the village. But only a weak, silent puff was the result.

He sagged as much as the chains allowed. The wing that had kept beating in a hopeless attempt to fan the fire away and to cool the air, crashed on the ground, ripping Clint, despite the chains that hold him up, even further down. His head rolled onto his chest when he started fainting in and out. A strand of hair caught fire by a spark that was dancing around him, but he didn’t notice it.

Ungentle tugging on his bounds made him look up. He couldn’t see anything through his red, swollen eyes. Blood ran out of them, streamed over his face in thick drops and vaporized before it reached the ground. Not knowing what was going on, he stiffened.

The chains loosened. As soon as they fell, Clint tumbled over. At the last moment, something prevented him to land with his face in the flames. His skin was saved but his facial hair fell victim to the flames.

The touch of metal that seemed to be in contrast to the blazing hot fire ice cold, made Clint howl in agony. His skin split open at the parts where it had peeled away, more blood and fat dropped spluttering into the ring of fire. The smell was nauseating.

Then everything went pretty fast. He felt how he was elevated into the sky, towards the sun he learned to abhor so much for her mindlessness. Though no angry shouts could follow him up there. So he didn’t mind being closer to his silent enemy.

The draught was incredibly cold. Goosebumps accompanied the blisters. Clint shuddered and went into spasm. His body arched up, causing him almost to fall out of his savior’s hands.

Iron Man’s hands.

Worried, Tony scrutinized his colleague, how he lay pale in his arms, twitching uncontrolled from time to time and making gargling sounds. Only half an hour ago he had gotten a call from a little Scottish boy. First, he hadn’t reacted, thinking that it was just another fake call of people who found it funny or just wanted to use the chance to talk to him. But pretty quickly he had realized that it was different this time. So he had stretched his newest suit to the limit and almost broken the sonic barrier to making it to his friend in time. And he had. Right?

Tony furrowed his brows and sped up. Clint didn’t look good at all. He knew that it wasn’t healthy for him to be exposed to the coldness that was typical up there. But he couldn’t help it. Clint needed to go to a hospital the fastest way and this was the fastest way. And maybe the cooling down did him good.

The billionaire knew exactly that it didn’t, but he kept telling it himself as an excuse for not having a better solution and tightened the grip around the small frame of what was left of his favorite Legolas. The man in his arms moaned, made another suffocating noise in the attempt to breathe, rolled his eyes, threw up, and blacked out.

Tony didn’t want to stop. They still had quite a bit to go till they would reach the trauma center. But he couldn’t ignore that his friend had apparently gone into shock. That was – if his assumption was right, and he hoped with all his heart he wasn’t - extremely dangerous. His organs, the ones that still worked properly, could stop functioning. And if that happened, he couldn’t do anything but watch his friend die in his arms. So, whether he wanted or not, he had to make a halt in between.

Cautiously, he laid Clint on the ground and dabbed off the vomit around his jawline that was oddly displaced.

“Hey, don’t do this to me, Feathers.” Carefully, he patted Clint’s cheek and bit his tongue at the same time. _Feathers_ surely wasn’t the one of the many nicknames he had for the archer that was appropriate right now. His gaze got stuck on the metal wing that was melted into Clint’s back and thanks to the great heat quite demolished. It still glowed in a slight orange at the tips of the feathering.

Tony swallowed and whispered: “Oh, what have they done to you, buddy?” Then he cleared his throat and said a little bit louder: “Clint!”

He had to repeat it three times before the thus addressed opened flutteringly his lids and looked disorientated into the world which consisted, at the moment, only out of Tony’s hazel eyes that were close to his face in order to find a sign of life. He mumbled something like “I’m Angel, not Clint” but it was impossible to identify those noises he uttered as words at all.

Tony smiled relieved and babbled in his typical manner to hide his panic: “Damn, birdy..err..I mean Clint you scared the daylights out of me. Don’t do this ever again!”

Clint returned the smile sadly although he didn’t know why. He didn’t feel like doing so. But the man above him seemed genuinely happy to see him. It was almost like they knew each other. If the guy really liked him? Or was he just happy to be able to continue punishing him? Insecurely, he went into a defensive posture.

His body protested against that movement by cramping again, only to be shaken in pain immediately afterward. Clint bit accidentally on his tongue and groaned hoarsely. There was nothing real. Not the soft ground he lay on. Not the worried eyes that followed every of his movements. Not the soothing voice and the fresh air. Just pain. Pain of a force he had never experienced in his life. A kind of pain that wasn’t made for living beings like him that had no superpowers at all.

With the last of his strength, Clint moved his lips. Tony bowed down as he couldn’t understand the whispers that were nothing more than a whiff of breath. When he finally figured out what the archer asked him to do, he flinched back, jumped up to his feet and sank down to his knees again. Agitatedly, he struggled for words and gasped out: „No, I won’t do it. I don’t kill you!”

Clint was too weak to speak again but his dull eyes begged: _Please!_ A tear left a wet trace on his sooted face. _Please, just take my pain away._

“No. No! We gonna make it. YOU are gonna make it!”

_No. Too late. Make it stop._

“You can’t ask me to do this! That’s not fair!”

_Die. Please. Let me._

“No! Not here. Not like this. Not today!”

Tony shook Clint rougher on his shoulder than he had intended. „Do you hear me?“

But Clint was already slipped away into the darkness.

Only now, Tony took notice of the great blood loss. Too much had he been distracted by the monstrosity on Clint’s back, the haunting eyes, and the wish of the archer which he never would fulfill him, although he couldn’t blame him for asking, no matter what he just had said.

So much red. So much life energy, so many hopes and dreams, such a bright future was streaming inevitable into the grass, disappearing. Being lost forever. Unless…

He had to stop it. Somehow. But how? Nervously, he looked around. His genius brain failed him. Thank God, he still had Jarvis. The AI always remained level-headed.

„Sir, you have to stanch the flow of blood on his arm. According to my calculations, you have roughly thirty seconds left.”

“This countdown isn’t helping, Jarvis!” snapped Tony. He hadn’t anything to follow his AI’s advice. Fuck!

Angrily, he kicked a stone away. His friend managed somehow to become even paler, whilst the blood kept coloring the ground in a bright shining red.

“And even if I stanch it, his arm will be lost…,” muttered he, rubbing tiredly over his eyes. “But if I don’t do anything, he’ll be dead for sure. Though that’s what he wants.” Tony paced up and down. “But if the pain is gone, would he still want it?”

“Sir, Mr. Barton’s breathing went alarmingly flat. His heart rate…”

“Shut up!”

“He’s going into primary shock.”

“I said: Shut the fuck up!”

Angrily, he ripped the helmet off his head and sank to his knees. As proud as he was about Jarvis, he couldn’t need him right now. Clint’s future was in his hands -literally. He had to decide over it within seconds. For itself already not an easy task at all. So how the hell should he do it when someone else kept jabbering?

More automatically than really intended, he got up, looked one last time hesitatingly down on his friend, expelled all doubts and amputated with one precise cut the last muscles and skin that connected Clint’s arm with his maltreated body before he could change his mind.

Clint’s hawk’s eyes shot open, his back arched. A shudder ran down Tony’s body. But as sudden as Clint’s reaction had occurred as sudden it was gone. The archer lay lifelessly on the ground. No blood gushed out of the huge wound on his side. But Tony wasn’t surprised. He would have been more surprised if he had found a single drop of the life-sustaining liquid inside the veins of his mate.

Not losing time, he chose a weak repulsor blast to cauterize the wound. The smell of burned flesh reached his nostrils and remembered him at the moment he had found Clint being engulfed in flames which wasn’t even five minutes ago. Getting a little bit sick, he noticed how the chains, Clint had had around his wrists had melted into his flesh. The left one wasn’t that badly hurt but it still looked quite painful. The right one, however… Tony felt his last meal travel up. The metal had left only coal-black skin that peeled; at some parts didn’t even that remain. The bare bone shimmered white through. Holding, his breath, Tony who was actually used to quite a lot, pushed the arm carefully out of his sight and was more than happy that the fire hadn’t been high enough to leave a permanent imprint of the metal neckless on his buddy’s skin.

Thankful that Clint didn’t notice anything of what was going on, Tony raised his face up to the sky, the sun shining soothingly upon them.

He lifted Clint without problems. For the last time, he looked at the excavated soil. He had buried Clint’s arm underneath it and made Jarvis remember the exact coordinates to be able to find it. So they could bury it in a graveyard or whatever you did with amputated extremities later on. Then he turned around. The question if it had been the right decision raged inside him. Considering the situation rationally, he knew it had been the only way to save Clint and his nerve cords were destroyed inevitably anyway, so he surely hadn’t felt anything. But emotionally, being a friend of this headstrong guy, it wasn’t that easy to be the one who had taken him the one thing he loved most: archery. But all his considerations availed to nothing. He couldn’t change it anymore. All he could do was try to save his friend’s life. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. So, he continued the way to the hospital, leaving his doubts behind, giving Clint the chance he had earned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should stop the story right here. It’s time. Never was supposed to be that long. Already wanted to end it, when Nat sees the news or when Clint stays inside the fire and looks up to the sky but you asked for a “happy” ending and I couldn’t say no. And now, I personally would love to write more - about the aftermath, what’s happening with his arm, his eyes, the wing… How he reacts when he realizes that he can’t do archery anymore. How the Avengers handle this situation. Maybe even find out why Daedalus has done all this to him. I should end this project but I grew too fond of it. I simply can’t say goodbye. Not yet. So if you also want to explore more, you are welcome to join me :)  
> Otherwise thanks for reading! And maybe we see us at another story of mine :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I promised a hopeful spirited recovery chapter but I failed to write it as I had to watch someone I love lose his fight for recovery. So again my sincere apologies for the long break. I hope you’ll like the chap anyway. I really tried…  
> It’s Mr. Renner’s birthday today. Let’s see if it’s also Clint’s “birthday”

Clint lay on a fluffy cloud, had a content stretch and sank a little bit deeper. Muted birds’ twittering reached his ears. He didn’t know how he had ended up here and it didn’t matter. It was wonderful. He turned moaning around and fell to the ground, right with his nose into lush green grass that smelled beguilingly. Clint chuckled and picked himself up. He hadn’t hurt himself. How should he in a place where everything was all light and carefree? Spreading his arms in awe, Clint swirled in happy circles around, not at all behaving like people expected from a serious archer with a haunting resting face.

Sunrays conjured a bright glow around his head, dancing cheekily on his nose. The easygoing feeling got a crack. Clint furrowed his brows and froze. His arms were still raised in the air but the gesture had turned into a defensive please-don’t-hurt-me-posture.

Light wasn’t good. Light was merciless and mean. It had hurt him. Had burned him. Laughed at him. Oh yes, he did remember. Not a specific situation. Not an experience. Just the excruciating pain. It came in all colors and shapes. Sweet golden rays that placed itself above you when you were already suffocated by its orange and red companion. Some funny dancing sparks that pretended that everything was alright whilst icy looking blue turned you into ashes.

Knowing that it was stupid, Clint still clenched his fists. “Show yourself, coward! Let’s fight hand-to-hand!”

Barking made him swirl around, ready to punch whatever crossed his way. A golden, furry flash knocked him over. Something licked wet over his face before he understood what was happening. First, Clint turned disgusted his head away but then he realized who greeted him in this quite personal way: Lucky.

Clint hadn’t seen him in years – not since he had died. One last time, Lucky let glide his rough tongue over his human friend’s cheek and ran away, Clint following him close on his heels – or rather paws. From time to time Lucky stopped, making sure his owner still followed him. And Clint did, knowing that he would bring him away from this horrible, light-flooded place.

They reached old, wooden corkscrew stairs. Step by step, Clint went carefully down the creaking witness of long lost times, not noticing how it went colder. He just kept going, letting his dog leading the way into the darkness where no light could follow them.

***

Tony landed on the heliport of a hospital. He was already expected by a crowd in typical white uniforms. Not wasting time with greeting them, the only thing he managed to utter was: “He is dying,” his voice being all broken and lost. Hands drew something that could have been in better times a human being out of his arms. Hecticness spread. The convoy sat in motion on the fastest way straight into an operating room. Someone checked already on the go Clint’s light reflex, recoiled by the sight of the definitely not human pupils but got quickly back to basics being a professional: “No reactions!” “Hurry up!”, “We are losing him,” were only some scraps that reached Tony who stayed behind on the roof, staring into his empty arms, where only some blood proofed that he had found Clint.

***

Clint squinted his eyes. Something dazzled him. So he hurried up to get further down, where a wonderful mysterious black of great attraction was awaiting him.

_That’s stupid, idiot._

But he chose to ignore his common sense. Something that was stronger than his will, something way more ancient, a power made him keep putting one foot in front the other.

_Don’t go into the light. Then you are safe._

Yeah, that’s what was said in bad movies. Not into the light. So further into the darkness then. He nodded determined but shuddered at the same time. It had sounded caring and still there lay something sneaky in it. Though, he couldn’t tell why. Oh, lately, he didn’t know much anymore.

He stopped irritated. Looked around. A little lake lay temptingly on a glade inside the forest with the knobby trees that were so big that no man could hug them. The sun was reflected in the water, breaking the darkness. It wasn’t bright as human beings knew their sun. It was of a color he had never seen before. The fascination made him forget his doubts and his fears of light. His devoted friend also waited for him, so everything was alright, right?

As closer he came to the lake, as more was he swallowed up by the darkness. Across the water was a cave with a huge entrance. From inside pulsated the center of the darkness. Instinctively, he knew he had to go there.

***

“Prepare the defibrillator!”

It was a great bustle around Clint. The room wasn’t made for so many people crowded into it. But they were needed and every movement was on spot as if it was normal to helping a creature half human, half bird winning his death throes.

“Adrenaline!”

***

Toxic smell reached Clint’s nostrils. His hackles rose. Something whispered ‘danger’ inside him. Blurred and barely understandable, but definitely there. His instinct never failed him about that.

It was like he woke up from a deep dream, like new energy ran through his body.

The enchanted beautiful scenery disappeared and showed its true face. The inviting cave looked like huge jaws with sharp teeth made out of stalagmites and stalactites, ready to maul everyone who dared to enter. Roots curled out of the water like old rotten skeletons that crawled on shore. Clint backed away. Too late. With slight pressure coiled those roots like cold, dead fingers around his legs.

“Uh, not good,” stammered Clint, hitting against his attackers. Not giving in, they dragged him closer to the lake and Clint realized that the awful smell fumed from there. It soon took every will to keep feeling his lungs with air away.

***

Panic seized the people that were crowded into the room. They were professionals, had seen a lot during their careers and knew that this was the biggest mistake they could make. But they couldn’t help it. Never before had they seen someone who still breathed with such a condition. The regular lifting and lowering of his chest had been their spark of hope to be out of the wood. Now, this little light was stifled. Someone prepared practiced an injection, someone else pressed a mask with oxygen on mouth and nose of their patient.

***

A draft brought fresh air. The tight feeling around his chest loosened. Everything was alright. Lucky splashed around rollickingly inside the water.

_What are you waiting for, dummy? Join your dog!_

It was meant friendly but was oddly impatient. It didn’t fit the scenery that was again completely peaceful and inviting as if nothing had happened. The trees stood peacefully on the shore, no roots tried to grab and drown him. Clint shook his head over his own fantasy and dipped carefully his toe into the water.

_Get closer. Jump into it!_

He already had his shirt over his head, when again this indefinably feeling of being lied to and not belonging here made him hesitate.

***

“Up to 700 Volts. Clear!”

***

A flash ran through his body like a wakeup call. The unnaturally peaceful feeling that tried to allay his alertness disappeared. The toxic reek of rotten bodies returned. It was like someone had taken a huge sponge and washed the façade off all for once.

Clint looked disorientated around. Everything was dead. The trees, the flowers on the brown, withered grass – and his dog. Just a mean skeleton grinned at him, pretending to be a dog. Coldness crept into his heart.

***

The body of the archer twitched. Goosebumps showed all over the body where still skin was left that wasn’t burned. The wing made an unexpected movement. Swept the set of instruments from the table. One of the nurses was hit and sank to the ground. Protectively, the wing wrapped around its owner, hovering warningly in the air. A few men dared to press the wing down but they only cut their hands on the sharp feathering and were hurled with a strong beat to the ground. Metal hissed aggressively through the air.

The chief resident, who had been hit on his shoulder, picked himself with contorted face up and left the room.

“What are you doing? You can’t leave! We need you.”

“Listen, this guy doesn’t need help. Not from us.” The young nurse who had dared to protest backed intimidated off.

“But he’ll die,” whispered she.

“We do him a favor.” The doors closed.

The remaining experts looked a little bit clueless at each other. Should they follow the example of their boss? But hadn’t they become doctors to save lives? If they ran away, what good were they as professionals? However, they also didn’t dare to come closer to the metal monstrosity. Being on the fence, they let their gazes wander from their struggling patient, who seemed to not know if he wanted to live or not, to the door and back again.

“Don’t be afraid.” The young nurse plucked up courage and came bravely closer to the wing whilst everyone else sought shelter behind the medical machines and equipment. Her hand touched trembling the feathering. “I know you just want the best for him.” She stroked softly over it. “Let us help you. Please!”

***

Clint turned around. Ran all the way up, he had come from. The roots around his ankles tightened. New ones reached for him. They tried to drag him back down.

His trousers ripped. He lost his left shoe. But it didn’t matter. Skillfully, he twisted himself free from the deadly grip.

_You can’t go back! Your place is here, fallen angel!_

The ear-piercing voice made him only run faster. A couple of times he fell down. The roots used immediately the chance to grow all over him, weaved him in, buried him underneath them. But Clint broke through the wood, picked himself up over and over again and left the haunted forest behind him.

***

“He stabilizes!” The doctors and nurses cheered in relief. Also something they didn’t often during an operation. But they had earned it. Since already two hours they were fighting for the life of the stranger the famous billionaire had entrusted them and feared at the same time for their own lives because of the wing that had retreated but still kept guard over their patient.

One of the three doctor teams decided that it was safe to go starting saving the men’s legs whilst the other’s kept care for the burned lungs and the heart that seemed to dance its own idiosyncratic dance.

Carefully, the team separated skin and trousers where they had melted and merged into one undefinable pulp. Normally, they would repair such areas with skin from other body parts of the patient. But this wasn’t an option in this case. The leading doctor sighed exhaustedly. This would be a long night. He only could hope that the rumor was true that Dr. Cho, a preeminent in producing artificial skin, would join them. His scalpel slid through the burned flesh. Again the wing hovered warningly over their heads.

***

The nightmare version of his own dog bit into his leg, holding him back. Clint screamed. He did his best but couldn’t shake him off. So he fought his way further up with the dog still tearing his leg. Strength left him. But he kept going, crawling on all forth up the stairs that were way more than he remembered.

And finally. There! There it was! The last stair. The exit of this nightmare.

Though instead of running into the light, he halted. Darkness held death for him. He knew that now. But light… Light would cause him pain. Unbearable pain. So what to do? Indecisively, he scratched his head.

***

“C’mon! Fight! Your girlfriend is waiting outside. Doesn’t she mean anything to you? For fuck's sake, fight!”

Everyone stared at the young nurse. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t long in business and they had told her that she would lose someone on the table sooner or later. But she wasn’t willing to accept it. No one died during her shift. Period. She kept cheering for Clint, till a hand laid down on her shoulder and dragged her away.

“He can’t hear you. He’s long gone.”

The girl raised her chin defiantly: “Oh really? So why are you still trying to safe him then?”

“We aren’t. We are doctors. We can fix fractures and wounds. That’s what we do. This guy might have a tiny chance that his body will live on for a little longer with our help but his spirit is far, far away.”

“So you say you are only saving an empty shell? That’s what you are telling me?”

The doctor nodded hesitantly. “If you want to put it that way…”

Tears shimmered in the girl’s eyes. “Well, I don’t.” Her voice was shaky but strong enough to encourage Clint again to come back and fight.

***

Clint had the feeling someone had called for him. He couldn’t find anyone but instead, he saw the mist he loved so much. The place where neither blackness nor light existed. Exhausted, he gave everything and crawled towards another state of being, leaving death behind.

Like the cloud had waited for him, it embraced him, making him feel immediately warm and secure. He would stay here. No matter what. He was safe here. Tired, he closed his eyes. All he longed for was a long and deep sleep.

***

“I’m going to be honest, sir.” Seriously, the doctor adjusted his glasses on his nose.

Tony watched every movement with terrified big eyes. His pale face competed with the doctor’s coat. His bloodless lips moved barely: “Is he…?” He searched for hold and found a strong arm next to him.

“No, no! It was a close call. Damned close. Never have seen such a fighter…” The doctor’s glance wandered admiringly to the nurse that stood with reddened cheeks next to him. It wasn’t clear if he meant the girl or his patient.

Feeling the piercing look of the Russian woman who had joined Mr. Stark, the doctor cleared his throat: “Your friend…” He halted, curious if he would get some information who this mysterious guy with the wing was. Though not getting any reaction, he continued a little bit disappointed: “…is in a coma.”

“How long is he gonna stay…like this, doctor?” interrupted a voice friendly and sharp at the same time.

“I don’t know.” Nervously, the doctor chafed his cold, sweaty hands.

Steve raised a brow.

“He is in a terrible condition as you know.” The man couldn’t help doing a step backward, looking intimidated from one visitor to the other. How the hell was he supposed to say the people that were better known as Iron Man, Black Widow, and Captain America themselves that he didn’t know if their strange friend – who scarred him even more - would ever wake up again. Some of his colleagues even had been of the opinion that it would be better to end this life. But that would have offended against the Hippocratic oath and they would never have been able to explain it to the lawyers Mr. Stark surely would have sicced on them.

Beads of sweat dripped off his bald forehead and he hastened to say: “For the moment it’s better like this. Spares him a lot of pain.” He tried a crooked smile that wasn’t returned.

***

Clint couldn’t enjoy the soft, secure feeling of the cloud. What if it was just another trap? Like Lucky? No, he couldn’t stay here. He had to get further away. To close was the lake. The darkness. Death. But also the sunlight and with it pain. And if he stayed here? It was so cozy. Clint snuggled a little bit deeper into the fluffy substance, only to start up like as if stung by an adder. He had made a decision. He would go into the light, knowing and not caring about the hurt that was waiting for him. As long as he felt pain, he knew he was alive.

Wobbly, Clint went up on his feet that carried him away. Automatically, they found their way -a way out of the place where you were neither dead nor alive.

***

Clint opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recovery chap where Clint learns to live with his condition will follow next time :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware: there are two chaps 11! (Both will mean the end of the story.) The first one is a darker version, has obviously a darker ending and is shorter. The second one (“Chap 11, alternative”) shows glimpses of different situations and has an ending that is closer to a happy ending. I honestly didn’t have the heart to delete one of them and as Clint usually doesn’t have wings, I can’t safe it up for another story. Simply read whatever you prefer :)

Chapter 11

As soon as he opened his eyes, he knew it had been a mistake. The light hit him like a steam engine. Rolled over him, jumbled up his body parts till he didn’t know up from down. Breathless, he heaved himself up, only to see how the train turned and aimed again on him. The headlights dazzled him, his lifted arms didn’t protect him. At the last second, he jumped to the side, but he felt the iron gliding through his flesh like a knife through warm butter. The scenery went all red by his blood like a filter was laid over it. His screams were drowned by the rattling of the wheels. He whirled around in the feeling of pure pain. It was everywhere. Just when he thought he would drown in his own blood, an abyss gaped, looking like Charybdis. It swallowed him and the train. The maelstrom gathered pace, pressed the last bit of air out of his lungs and washed his senses away.

“Clint?”

He felt something touching his arm and screamed. Pain exploded at the touched area spreading over his whole body. He rolled his eyes and faded away, not knowing what was real and what were just images his brain came up with to explain the unbearable anguish.

Bruce watched his colleague dripping with sweat worried and put a new wet cloth onto his forehead. Clint mumbled something, but it was too much of a moaning to be understandable. He writhed restless on the mattress as if he tried to avoid being hit by something.

“It’s alright. I’m here.” A little bit awkwardly, Bruce patted Clint’s hand. The doctors had made a good job. Had not only patched him up but also had somehow saved him with Dr. Cho’s help of looking like a bad Deadpool double. Bruce dabbed Clint’s forehead and looked down on his colleague who looked like almost nothing had happened – at least not more like it was usual for a mission. A scratch here, a broken jaw there. Some bandages. For Clint, sadly, a quite normal condition. The real horror wasn’t visible. The missing arm was hidden under the blanket. The wing disappeared under the special bed that made it possible for the archer to lie normally on his back.

The high doses should have made the archer zoned out completely. But Bruce noticed a twitch around his eyes.

“Clint?”

Who was this guy keeping calling? Angel coughed and had the feeling he had gargled accidentally with turpentine instead of mouthwash. His tongue was heavy and furry. Still, he rasped: “Clint? Who the hell is Clint?”

“Hell, you are! Clint, you are Clint!”

“Not true.” He shook his head and regretted it instantly. The rug was pulled out from under his feet. The room gyrated. And there he was falling again faster than in the speed of sound.

***

Three days later, Angel was laying on his mattress bathed in sweat. His teeth were clenched so tight that the doctors were worried that the healing process of his jaw would be affected. Though the nurses weren’t able to open it to put a bite splint as a protection between it. It was a mystery. No matter how strong the pain medication was, it didn’t work. There patient somehow kept overcoming it, only to have a glimpse into the world, he seemed to don’t like as he drifted off soon afterward. It was as if he didn’t dare to open his eyes as he might not like what he saw but at the same time he didn’t dare to have a rest from all of this. As if he couldn’t allow himself to be off guard for a second.

Angel’s fall came to an end. He was awaited by a guy inside a yard. The scenery blurred. He found his likeness laying on the ground. Energy ran throw him. But not in the good kind of way. “Say that you are Angel!” Of course, he was. Astonished, Angel tilted his head and watched the image of himself being tortured. He listened curious to his own almost voiceless screams. Watched how he doubled up and how he spit on the ground, looking defiantly upwards. “I am Clint Francis Barton.”

“C’mon, Clint.”

Bruce was desperate. The condition of his colleague hadn’t changed in days. It hadn’t become worse, which was good, but it also hadn’t shown any step towards an improvement. The doctors were about to do tests with him to check if he was braindead, but Bruce didn’t allow it. Clint had talked with him. No one believed him. Said it was just a wish. But the scientist knew it better. Clint was alive. He had to be.

“Please, open your eyes!”

No reaction. As always.

Exhausted, Bruce wanted to leave the room. Of course, nothing would happen. Just like the days before. But he was wrong. The dark blond guy in front him shook his head! It wasn’t more than a tiny, tiny movement. But it was definitely there.

Bruce denied himself a little happy dance and asked cautiously instead: “Why won’t you open your eyes?”

“I…” Clint was so weak and speaking hurt so much that it needed him the whole afternoon to answer the question, but Bruce was willing to wait. “…don’t want to see me bleeding.”

“You are not!”

“The light…” Bruce didn’t understand. Should he switch it on? It was quite a rainy and dark day. So he got up and did so. Tormented howling let him spin around.

Clint convulsed till Bruce switched the light quick-witted off again. Appalled, they stared into each other eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I didn’t want to…,” stuttered Bruce shocked by Clint’s reaction. Though he wasn’t so sure if it really was ‘Clint’s reaction’. The man under the white sheets looked more like a wounded, scared animal that expected to be hurt any second again.

“Who am I?” the injured gasped out.

Bruce sat down, soaked in some air, tried to put on his happiest face so he wouldn’t break into tears and began to relate: “Your name is Clint. Clint Francis Barton.”

“Not Angel?” He was interrupted by his colleague who added silently and more for himself thinking about his last dream: “So is it real then?”

“No. You are a famous archer.” The dark blond had closed his eyes, but Bruce could see it working inside him, apparently searching for any hints that it was true what he was telling.

“You are part of the Avengers.” The huge question marks made the scientist quickly add: “A group consisting out of Tony Stark, a true genius, Steve Rogers, a very loyal guy, Natasha, you are actually secretly in love with her.” Bruce chuckled. Clint had always tried to hide his feelings and although he was good, everyone, expect maybe for Nat, had realized it.

Eye’s shut open. A cold shiver ran down Bruce’s back. He felt uncomfortable being watched by the eyes of a predator.

“Where are all those people? They were never here.”

The doctor blushed ashamed. “Oh, they were!”

“Don’t lie to me!” was the hissed answer he got. “You were the only one! Why?” In his agitation, his wing freed itself out of the anchoring that kept it away. It shot upwards. Clint was yanked upwards and landed hard on the mattress. The air was pressed out of his lungs. The pain was overwhelming but his reflection inside the feathering even more. His mouth dropped open. His eyes went bigger and bigger. Bruce could watch how they filled with water but not a single tear rolled over his cheek.

“That’s why,” whispered Clint voiceless. “I’m a monster.” Abruptly, he folded the wing away to don’t have to endure his own look any longer.

For a moment, he got very quiet. Then he yelled: “Stop goggling at me. Fuck off!”

Bruce’s skin shimmered green. He felt anger crawl upwards, ready to break out. The whish to grab this puny man by his wing and smash him around like a doll grew. His clothes went to tight for his tensed muscles.

Bruce shook his head. The green disappeared. Wordless, he turned around.

“Yeah, leave! Leave me like everyone else! I don’t need ya!”

***

Bruce ran along the corridor. Just away from Clint. Not because he almost had hulked out. Oh, no. The sadness in Clint’s eyes about being rejected by everyone had hurt him too much. And now he was also running away from him. Gosh, he could just imagine too well what the archer had to think right now – being all by his own, injured, not wanted.

“Damnit!” Bruce hit his fist against the wall and concentrated on not letting the other guy out. How should he tell Clint that Tony couldn’t bear having taken his arm away and drowned in self-pity and alcohol? Clint hadn’t even noticed yet that he was missing his arm, what wasn’t a surprise considering all the drugs that were pumped into his body.

How should he tell, that Nat hadn’t been able to see Clint suffering and had decided to hunt the guy who had done this to him down? Of course, Clint must think that it was just a stupid lie, a bad excuse for not having to be with him.

And the Captain? Well, he fought with his own demons of the past. Had locked himself up in his room with the words: “It’s not easy to accept such a change of your body. Give him time and remember him that it matters what’s inside here.” He had tapped against his chest. Well, that had neither been helpful nor convincing.

Bruce sighed. Without realizing, his feet had brought him back to Clint’s room. His friend needed him and if anyone could understand how it was to turn into a monster overnight, it was him.

***

“Clint?”

The man in the bed with the dark circles around his eyes flinched and tensed even more, when Bruce reached for his hand. The shaking got worse. Fear filled the room. Stiff as a poker, Clint endured the touch.

“Relax. I’m not hurting you.” But Clint only held his breath, his gaze wandered restless to the hand on his own and away as if he didn’t dare to look but at the same time wanted to prepare for an attack. Bruce retreated.

„Why did you come back? - Don’t say it. Because you know how it is to be a monster, right?”

Now it was up to Bruce to flinch.

“Do you remember…?”

“Not who I am.” A tear escaped Clint’s eyes.

Something fell to the ground and broke the moment.

“I have something for you.” He picked up what had slipped down. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was wise, but he remembered what had hurt the most when he had changed – that he hadn’t been allowed to work in his laboratory anymore. That they had taken from him what he loved most. It would have been enough for him to just be inside it, breathing the odd, sticky air. Maybe it wouldn’t have made him happy in the long run but for the moment, the familiarity of it would have given him secureness. And secureness was something Clint needed right now. So, he laid something into his friend’s hand, he knew meant a safe haven for him and waited, biting nervously his lips.

First there wasn’t a reaction. An unsteady look followed which Bruce met encouragingly.

Carefully, as if he could break it, Clint let his fingers glide over the carbon bow and the string – just as if he would see a bow for the first time in his life. The material lay cold in his hand, the grip fitted perfectly, as if it had been just made for him. His muscles relaxed, the bow glided out of his fingers. His expression made obvious that he had drifted off again.

Disappointed, Bruce wanted to take the bow and leave but Clint clenched it, saying voiceless: “I remember.”

* * *

 

Bruce spent every free minute he had with Clint. Sometimes they just sat there. Everyone lost in their own thoughts. Sometimes they joked around like in the good ol’ times. But although no one talked about what had happened, it didn’t belie that Clint suffered. He spoke in his dreams. Screamed, begged and cried, giving the scientist a horrendous insight of what he had lived through.

Clint ate barely and lay the blame on his broken jaw. With every day he got quieter. Bruce didn’t miss how he watched the door with excitement which turned into disappointment when it was again just him and not one of the other Avengers entering.

Time past by. The painkillers were slowly reduced. The day Clint could think clear again and would be mobilized wouldn’t be long in coming. On one hand, Bruce was happy for him. But on the other hand, he feared that day as it would be the day, he would notice his missing arm.

Being distracted by his worries, he didn’t pay much attention to his doing. He was holding a cup, so Clint could drink out of a straw – the only way to take liquids with his broken jaw.

When the archer wanted to put down the cup, Bruce brushed accidentally his cheek.

“Ouch! Why are you touching my arm?” Clint switched effortless into the being ‘all-hurt, all-terrified’ mode. The so arduously rebuilt trust gone.

“I… I haven’t,” stuttered Banner genuinely astounded.

“I felt it! My right arm. Like you squeezed it. Hurts.”

Clint fell silent, not wanting to be a pussy cat. Still, he reached with his left hand for the aching area. But he grasped at nothing. His hand wandered upwards. He was confused. He kept missing his arm. Another try. But again: He only stroked over the cool mattress. Following a bad feeling that spread in his stomach, he lifted slowly the blanket. It was softly but determinedly pressed down by the guy above him.

“Don’t.”

He saw sympathy in Bruce’s eyes.

“What have you done?!”

“Tony just…”

Clint narrowed his eyes into deadly slits. With one jump, he stood on his own feed, only to collapse immediately. The nose tube got lost. A cannula ripped out of the crook of his arm and left some bloody splashes on the white sheets.

Arms embraced him, but he shook them off. The wing helped him standing up.

“Where are you going?” Bruce kneeled still on the ground, when Clint half walked, half crawled away.

***

Tony’s door was opened. Not the way it was usually done. With a loud thud fell the wood that had been kicked in down.

Being all dizzy in his head, Tony couldn’t do much more than to goggle quite stupidly at it. Before he understood what happened and if there really an angel in scrubs had entered his room, he was skewered by metal and pinned against the wall. Helpless, he dangled with his legs in the air.

“You… You!”

Clint couldn’t think straight. Blood streamed out of the shoulder wound of his victim. With one yank, he pulled his wing out, ripping the flesh wound even bigger. Tony swayed and collapsed on his knees.

His colleague planted himself in front of him threateningly. He lifted his head and saw racer sharp metal closing in on him. He ducked down, but the alcohol made him slow. A deep cut showed on his arm.

The guy above him hauled off for another attack. Tony stretched out his arm and closed his eyes to don’t see what would happen next.

Metal screaked on metal. Just at the last moment, his suit – at least the arm part - had found its way to its owner. Halfway ready, Tony awaited another attack, holding his throbbing head.

Bruce had heard the noises of the fight way before he had reached the room. He rushed around the corner, just to witness how Clint stabbed Tony with his wing like a maniac.

“Stop it!” He was armed with the Captain’s shield, which he had seen leaning in the hallway and had grabbed it quick-thinking on his way to Tony. Steve was close on his heels, startled up by the weird behavior of the scientist.

Clint turned slowly around, and Bruce and Steve realized immediately that it wasn’t their colleague any longer. Steve knew that look just too well. Had seen it on his best friend Bucky before.

The man in front of them stumbled but hid immediately his weakness, fanning out his wing threateningly.

“Out of my way, or I’ll hurt you.” The temperature inside the room dropped to zero. Angel passed by the persons who just stared dumb at him. He couldn’t fight them. Not yet. Not being that weak. And he didn’t know if he wanted to do that at all. They used to be his friends. But they had betrayed him. Crippled him. Sorted him out when they couldn’t need him any longer.

“It wasn’t us. We saved you!”

Angel halted. “Who did it then?”

“We don’t know.”

Angel turned around. The tip of his wing lifted Tony’s chin, ready to sting. “Who?”

“I really don’t know,” Tony squeaked. The metal pressed deeper into his flesh. “Nat said something about a Daedalus.” Angel smiled. “There we go.”

He left.

The shield, which the Captain had wrested from Bruce bounced off his wing without even disbalancing or making him look back.

* * *

 

It was a rainy day. Erik picked halfheartedly at his food. Every day the same: onions and herbs, he found in the forest. Sometimes some meat.

Annoyed, he threw his fork away. But then he had second thoughts, lifted his hand and the fork came back as if by magic.

Erik sighed and kept eating. What else should he do? He was hiding for many months now. Since the plan of Apocalypse hadn’t worked. “Rule the world” – yeah, sure. Erik huffed. Everyone was six feet under and he had to carve out a miserable existence inside this bedraggled forest cabin.

His expression got almost as dark as the light conditions inside the small room. A cold draft wafted over his neck. He really had to repair the walls. Everywhere were those awful cracks that made it uncomfortable cold. The draft intensified. Erik turned around.

A person with a wing stood in the door frame in the shadow. His face not visible.

“Angel!” Erik jumped up in surprise. His meal spilled over the dirty floor.

“I need a wing. I’m on a hunt.”

**-the end-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, why do I suddenly have the need to write about Clint as a ruthless avenger angel? Anyway, that’s it. Thanks for reading! Don’t like the ending with Magneto and Clint staying Angel? Well, give the alternative a chance :)
> 
> Off topic: I’ve to do a performance as a part of a test. It’s about elocution and the art of reciting. I’m desperately looking for texts I could perform. Possible topics are: the world of Gods (no matter if Northern, Greek,…), doom, psychiatry or sharing a flat. If anyone of you knows a text, a book, song or movie that I could use for reciting or inspiration let me please know! Or maybe you have an idea what I myself could write about that topic(s). Self-written texts are allowed. It just should be emotional or have a message, so I can touch people by performing it. I’d be extremely thankful for any advice/inspiration!


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11** **(alternative)**

Clint stared at the ceiling. That’s what he did yesterday. That was what he would do tomorrow.

He lay in a special bed which made it possible for him to lay comfortably despite the wing. The wing… They hadn’t taken it away. Had said they had their reasons. Something about getting paralyzed or whatever. As if this could make his situation worse. As if it mattered if he couldn’t walk again.

Clint swallowed the upcoming desperation and bitterness down. His bleak look flickered but got expressionless again.

The doctors had said he would regenerate. Dr. Cho’s machine had accomplished prodigies. Scars were barely visible. As if nothing ever had happened. But the machine could only heal what was on the surface, not what was beneath inside Clint’s heart. Mental scars were nothing that vanished that easily.

The pain got hold of his body, despite the high doses of opiate. The doctors had said he would be fine one day, but Clint didn’t believe them. He had been often enough an involuntary guest of hospitals to know when the demi-gods in white lied to him to go easy on him. To give him strength, to motivate him to go on fighting, to not give up.

Give up…

Not long ago, he had done that. He had wanted to drown in the ocean. And now he lay there and was supposed to continue his life like it was before he had gotten caught in the lunatic scientist’s clutches.

How could they expect this from him? It was impossible. Angrily, Clint clenched his fists and punched the mattress. Nothing happened on the right side. Only more pain exploded inside the arm, ran from his shoulder down into his fingertips. Pain which was just as little existent as his right arm and still able to torment him.

His chest tightened. He didn’t avert his look from the ceiling. Didn’t clutch at the void like he had done the first days after he had woken up to cease the rampaging ache.

Flashbacks raging behind his eyes conjured sceneries on the white wall he stared at:

_“He his awake! How could this happen?”_

_Clint moaned. He had no clue where he was and who was speaking._

_“We should put him in an artificial coma.”_

_„No!“ Clint rasped. Surprised eyes lay upon him. He shivered, words streamed out of his mouth without him understanding what he said: “Don’t. Don’t bring me back there.”_

_“But the pain… Your body could easier and quicker regenerate.”_

_“No, please…” Tears streamed down his cheeks. Death had been so close. He couldn’t go back to this place. Oh, he couldn’t. He couldn’t live but he also wasn’t ready to die. In his desperation, he started to scream without realizing it. His screams still resounded of the corridors of the hospital when the tranquilizer operated._

The pictures stopped and were replaced by a new scenery as if the little projectionist in his head had loaded another film reel:

_“Why didn’t you take it off? Why?”_

_A young lady went between him and the doctor he yelled at. Her voice was soft and understanding. And wait! Clint tilted his head. Hadn’t there been a hint of sympathy? He didn’t need sympathy from anyone._

_“The doctors couldn’t. No one dared. The danger that you might never be able to walk again was too big. Besides, they were too busy to save your life.” Nat got a little bit more strident._

_“Oh well, maybe they had the wrong priorities then,” was all Clint said bluntly and did his best to don’t contort his face. No one should see how much trouble he had to speak with his broken jaw._

_Natasha halted. She wasn’t sure if she should continue the conversation right now or wait until later. But it wouldn’t make anything better. “Your wing wouldn’t have allowed it either.”_

_As if it wanted to agree, the wing moved slightly, till Clint forced it to stop._

_“But they made the best out of it.”_

_“What does that mean?” asked Clint with a bad premonition._

_“They’ve inserted metal…”_

_“Stop!”_

_“But…”_

_“I said stop!”_

_Clint bristled with rage and looked daggers at the doctor, who tried effortlessly to hide behind Natasha. He preferred averting his eyes as he didn’t want people to see what monster he was but when people behaved like monsters and shoved even more metal inside him, he also could be one._

_A maniacal grin slid over his lips._

_His best friend watched it with growing concern and fell silent. She didn’t explain that the doctors had made the choice to fixate long metal bars with couplings on his spine to relieve his back of the huge weight of the wing. It had been pretty prudent from them as she thought as it prevented Clint from ending up in a wheelchair because of a spinal disk herniation. Though of course, it made him to a certain extent immobile. But he would realize that early enough. She wasn’t keen on being the bringer of bad news. Clint had had enough lately. And it wouldn’t be the last one. Till now, he hadn’t discovered that he was missing something and till now, no one had told him that he wasn’t the guy he believed to be._

_“Take away the wings from a guy called Angel. What will be left?” She exited, leaving a confused Clint behind._

_Soon he gave up trying to figure out what the woman had meant and studied the ceiling for the first time instead._

***

_“You will be a wonderful hawk.”_

_“You are not dying! Do you hear me? Not after all the work I’ve put into you.”_

_“I ripped it open to drink my own blood!”                                                            “I’ll remove your eyeball.”_

_“I know what’s best for you.”                         “They will be scared of me! Scared…”_

Clint screamed. Like so often before, the throbbing of the phantom pain in his right arm ripped him out of his gloomy memories. For the fact that it wasn’t there this little bastard really hurt terribly. Even more than all his other injuries together. It was still hard for him to understand that it really was gone. It was so surreal. But he had double-checked it; no, actually, he had looked like every minute if he wasn’t wrong since the moment he had found out about being amputated.

The moment… He never would forget that:

_He lay stock-still. Slowly, he lifted the blanket._

_“Don’t.”_

_Clint saw the fear in Natasha’s eyes. In Nat’s eyes! He stopped._

_“Tell me the truth. You owe it to me, Natasha.” But his friend pressed only her lips in small, white lines together._

_He smiled bravely: “Can’t be as bad as it feels.”_

_Not understanding what their mate meant, Natasha and Steve exchanged confused looks till Clint explained: “Feels like I’m missing something down there…”_

_The color drained from Nat’s cheeks. She knew Clint needed him right now. But she couldn’t stay. Couldn’t watch. Wordlessly, she flounced out of the room._

_“Nat! What…?”_

_“Tony amputated your arm.” That was Steve. Serious and straightforward as always._

_“Hey, you can’t say it like that,” complained Tony but Clint didn’t hear them anymore. His blood roared in his ears._

_The only thing he could think was that the other ones lied to him. That they had fun seeing his stupid face believing their nonsense. But not with him._

_He wrenched the blanket away. Nothing. Just a white, clean sheet where his arm should be. Groaning, he heaved himself to the side, to have a closer look as if he could have overlooked his limb. But again: noting._

_That couldn’t be. He had two arms. He knew that. He felt it! It hurt. So how…? His gaze wandered upwards and got caught by the sight of his arm stump._

_For a short moment, it was absolutely silent. That wasn’t real. He just had drunken way too much last night. At least that was how he felt like. Throbbing head. Slightly dazed. He just had a bad dream. Clint stared at it again. His left hand reached for his right underarm but only stroked the mattress. Aghast, he tried it again with the same result._

_Suddenly, mad cackling broke the silence. Clint laughed and laughed. He couldn’t stop. An archer with only one arm. Oh, wasn’t that a good joke? Eventually, his hysterical laughter changed into sobs. Tears streamed down his face. They burned in his wounds. He hid his face in his hand he still had left._

_Tony and Steve left silently the room. They couldn’t do anything for their archer right now. He needed time, and not well-meant advice or consolation they couldn’t give as they never would be able to completely understand what was going on inside a man whose world just broke together._

“Clint?”

The archer flinched. His body switched effortlessly into defense-mode. Not only because he was ripped out of his horrible memories but also because he still felt uncomfortable hearing this word. He knew now that it was his name. He remembered who he used to be and still the memory of getting tasered for saying that it was his name made him insecure. He still expected to be punished.

His brow wandered up. He turned his head away.

“Clint!”

“Not drinking out of this,” he mumbled and closed his eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot!”

Clint decided to ignore Natasha.

“Awww!” He imagined how she tore her hair being all frustrated and angry. Actually, he was happy and relieved about her being here, though he didn’t show it. He never had been good at expressing feelings and felt like he had to man up no matter what.

“For God’s sake, your jaw is broken, you barely can lift your head, you lost an arm, the other one is…well, let’s say quite banged up, your…”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me. Almost forgot…” His words dripped with sarcasm.

Softly, Natasha ruffled him through the bit of hair that had survived the fire. She touched his face as Clint had told her that it resulted in a sensation that made him believe that his phantom arm was touched. He loved living with this illusion. It gave him the impression of normality. At least for a fleeting moment.

“Clint.” She puffed his name tenderly into his ear.

“No.”

Dammit. Inwardly, she stamped her foot. Clint simply knew her too well to see through her change of tactics.

„Big, stubborn baby!“

Clint turned around, his corners of his mouth twitching suspiciously till he couldn’t hold back any longer and his lips curled into a big grin. “Nah, just when you force me to drink out of whatever this is.”

“This?” Nat held a feeding cup up and eyed it as skeptically as Clint had done. “Why the hell should I know what this is called? I’m too good to be beaten up to need that.” She bit her lip and fell silent. But Clint wasn’t angry. He laughed hoarsely. He seriously laughed! Something he hadn’t done in an eternity. From one second to the next, he stopped, however. Stared again up to the ceiling. Being taciturn and lost in his thoughts as if he was alone.

But Nat still knew of which value this moment was: She had her old partner back. Not completely. Of course not. But it was a beginning. He answered to his name and started displaying his sarcastic humor. So Angel would soon be no more. Just twelve steps to go until Hawkeye would be back. It would be a long and rocky road with ups and downs but it was a way at least.

**Step one**

True, the first step didn’t look like a step towards turning into Hawkeye. It was almost like he made a step backward. But his mates knew it better. They were aware of Clint being unendurable when he recovered from injuries. Sometimes it was acting like being the coolest guy in town. A broken hip and shattered clavicular? _Thought I was hurt doc…_ A shot into his arm? _Well, guess I’ve to postbone golf till tomorrow._

Sometimes he changed into an exhausting kid who would do anything but listening to the doctor’s advice. And this time? Well, this time it was desperation and it was a hundred times better than the Clint who stared apathetically at the ceiling. Cause that had been something that wasn’t Clint. That kind of silent Clint had been just terrifying.

The fist of the archer hit his knee perfectly. Like a frantic, he thrashed his knee.

„Don’t, you…“

„…damage it?“ Clint laughed, but it was cheerless.

“Nat, I don’t feel anything in those damned legs. It’s like they don’t belong to me. Can’t be destroyed much more. Just wanted to see if there is still some life in them or if they can go wherever my right arm is.”

Bitterness spread in his mouth. He had had sensory disturbances before, but they had never stayed that long. What if something had been damaged in his spine? So many people had messed about with it.

**Step two**

Clint noticed bruises on Tony’s neck, which were almost fainted away completely.

“What did ya do?”

„Oh, just had a slight variance with Nat. Agents… You know how they can be!” Tony giggled nervously. His feisty colleague had made more than clear what she thought about his decision of cutting Clint’s arm. But when she had calmed down, when her rational side had taken over she had understood. But would Clint understand too? Tony’s hopes were shattered before he could say anything.

“You know you should have let me die.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Kill me? I understand that. Yeah, I do.”

Clint nodded.

Tony smiled hesitantly and came closer.

“But if you were just a way too big coward to end it, you just could have walked away. Time would have done the dirty work for you.”

“Clint, I’m sorry. I…”

“Sorry? You are sorry? You caused this! Why didn’t you do what I asked you for? What everyone else would have done, seeing me like this.”

“Because you are my friend.”

“No, if I would be that, you would have done it. I tell you what: you are egoistic and weak.”

Clint breathed heavily. He saw how offended Tony was.

„Sorry. I know you wanted to help me… It’s just… all a little much… Thank you. I guess...”

Tony knew he should let go. But he couldn’t shut up: “You don’t mean it, right?”

He heard from underneath the blanket a muffled, suppressed sob, followed by a stubborn: “You should have killed me!”

Tony sighed. “If it’s about the pain… I know it’s excruciating. But it goes away.”

The blanket was slung away. Clint ripped accidentally a cannula out of his vein, but didn’t pay attention to it. “You don’t know anything!“

“You are right.” Tony lowered his head. Seeing Clint like this was worse than the physical attack of Natasha. “I don’t know what pain you are going through right now.”

“No, it’s not about that. And it’s not about the arm… I mean that’s pretty shitty, but…” Clint whispered as if he was afraid of speaking it out loud: “I feel like a monster. I hate what I’ve become. And even if it would be possible to remove everything. Something of it will stay in my heart.”

“And still you chose to live.”

“Chose? I chose? Oh no, you didn’t let me…”

“Shut up, self-pity-boy. If you had wanted to die you would be dead. So stop that nonsense. You fought. Period. Don’t regret it now. I’m proud of you. We all are. I understand that you are confused.” Tony raised a warning finger. “But don’t put the blame on me. It’s neither my nor your fault. If it is at all anyone’s fault, it’s this guy… Daedalus. Really strange guy.”

“You know him?” Clint was surprised. He had never mentioned the name of the guy who had done all those horrible things to him.

“Talked with him.”

“But that’s impossible, he’s dead….”

“Nope. He is in a hospital. Shield agents found him there.”

“He’s dead!”

“No, Clint.” Maybe it wasn’t wise to upset Clint. But Tony had had quite a lot of alcohol and although his mates had dissented, he was of the opinion that Clint should learn the truth. That was only fair. And yes, it also distracted from the whole arm-cutting-issue.

“He is dead. I saw it. So much blood. The wing smashed him.”

“Yes, he was injured severely, but somehow he managed to get help. Shlepped himself on the street and pretended to be the victim of a hit and run or something.”

Clint clenched his fist into the sheet. An alarm of one of the machines he was connected to went off. His wing smashed clattering the ground, leaving cracks in it.

“Get out!“

**Step three**

Clint sat on his bed. The place he hadn’t left in a long time. Not only because of his bad condition, but also because they had restrained him after his freak-out for his own safety and for the safety of everyone else. But now he was free. He didn’t know whether it was for his begging and nagging or if they had sympathy with him. And in the end he didn’t care.

Medical equipment of which he didn’t even know what it was made some background noise. Otherwise, it was silent.

“He made sport with my life. I don’t know why he created me like this. But am I not monstrous?” Clint whispered. His thoughts simply couldn’t stop circling around this topic. Whenever he saw his image mirrord in something, like today in the spoon he used for dinner; whenever he felt his wing move, he constantly got reminded that he was far away of being a normal human being. And with that came fear. The fear of never being accepted in society again.

“Clint,” that’s not you.”

“Look at me! The wing, the eyes. That’s all me. I’m a creature. A monster!” He got louder. His lungs protested under the exertion. He coughed and his fingers cramped into the sheets. Frantically, he felt around him but couldn’t find what he was searching for. Natasha did though. She pressed quickly the respiratory mask on his mouth and nose and waved the nurses away that had rushed with a fixation strap into the room.

Clint’s muscles relaxed. With difficulty, he gasped out: „You better disappear now.“ The rest drowned in another coughing attack.

**Step four**

“Tony you are not helping Clint with turning into an alcoholic.” Bruce took the bottle Tony held in his hands. First, the billionaire snatched at it, but then he sighed: “Right. I have to do something.”

That was the moment when the Avengers didn’t see Tony for the next few days. He didn’t even appear for getting something to eat or taking a nap.

All dirty and triumphing, he reappeared in Clint’s room.

“I can build a left wing! The construction is fascinating. Almost like it is a real limb, not only something artificially created. But I can manage that.“

Proudly, he waved some papers with drawings of a wing and calculations, not even noticing how Clint went pale.

„No, not another operation. I… I can’t bear that anymore.“

„Oh c’mon, spoilsport. I’ll make you a prosthesis. You can put it on your back just like a backpack. And I have also plans for your arm.” Another pile was thrown on the bed. “It’s inspired by my Suit and, to be honest, by Captain Iglo’s old friend too. It’s gonna be so amazing!” Tony was thrilled to bits.

„No, I don’t want wings! No one’s gonna marry me like this. Nat won’t like me…” Clint lowered his head.

“I tell you. The wings are awesome. Girls are gonna love you! Let me be your wingman!” He giggled at his own bad pun.

Now Clint got angry.

“I don’t want girls. I want Nat. And you don’t mess about with me. No one does that. I’ve enough metal inside my body. I want to get rid of it. If you don’t help me, I’ll find a way on my own. I always do. I won’t run around like a freak any longer. Shove the prosthetic arm up wherever you want. Do you think I’ll ever be able to do archery with it?”

Clint’s eye’s pierced Tony like they were some of his arrows. “I won’t have any feeling in my fingers.”

Tony retreated, but still didn’t give up: „There is technic which can be connected with your n…”

A gargling sound escaped Clint’s mouth. Defensively, Tony lifted his hands: “Woah, woah, woah, you can’t turn into a green rage monster like Banner, can you?”

The archer didn’t answer. “Alright, but if you change your mind, just let me know. I’ll make you the best arm the world has ever seen. But take at least these.”

He handed him a small packet and left.

Curiously, Clint opened it, ready to throw it away. But to his surprise, he only found stylish glasses inside it. He put them on. His vision got instantly worse. Confused, he put them off and on again. Same result. On a folded paper he found Tony’s crawly handwriting:

**_Those are the world’s first glasses to see worse. Or let’s say to see like everyone else. Just in case you have enough of seeing every tiny wrinkle of the Captain in detail, ugh. The glasses will hide the shape of your pupils too, although it’s not dark glass, so you don’t have to be Mister ‘I wear my sunglasses at night’ any longer - Tony_ **

The paper slipped from Clint’s grasp. Quickly, he put the glasses on his nose again. Tony was right with his assumptions: He preferred wearing sunglasses. Always. Even in the darkness as the colors were so bright that he soon got tired. It simply was too much for a human brain to process. And yes, he also didn’t want to show anyone the shape. He couldn’t even look himself into his eyes so he couldn’t expect others to don’t have a problem doing this.

**Step five**

“I can’t get through the airport control with this metal trash. What do you think I should say? _Excuse me, that’s the remains of my implanted wing prosthetics?_ They are gonna think I’m high like a kite.”

“Clint, you always take the Quinjet and fly on your own.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but if..”

“No, Clint. You are just searching for reasons that allow you staying negative.”

Clint fell silent. Maybe she was right. It was just so much easier to see all the bad things. And the good things? Well, even the biggest optimist would have problems to find any. And still…

“I’ll try to change.” He halted. “For you.”

An obnoxious voice from the background was hearable: “Aww, the human torch-imitation and the icy-woman. So sweet!”

Clint and Natasha shouted in unison: “Get lost, Tony!” and laughed about their colleague toddling off being fake-indignant.

**Step six**

Clint stood up. Carefully, he sat one foot on the ground, the other one followed. It felt weird. He hadn’t stood on them for quite a while. Just had lain inside the bed. But now he had to go to the bathroom and he wanted to do it on his own. He didn’t want a nurse to take care of that any longer. So today was the day.

He went almost enthusiastically up. His arm flailed about in the air as he almost lost balance. But he caught himself and made a first wobbly step. Another one. Step by step, he worked his way to the bathroom. It felt like ages. And with every second that passed, it was as if his body turned more and more into pure pain. Sweat dripped down his forehead. Though he didn’t give up. He could already see the toilet when his legs suddenly didn’t carry him anymore. A loud thud underlined his collapse.

Humiliated, he tried to pull himself up on the bathtub. Though he couldn’t. Not with one arm that was barely controllable thanks to failure symptoms that came along with a loss of motoric function.

His eyes watered. He felt that he was about to cry. Everything was just too much for him. Once he used to be a proud archer, a Shield agent. And now? Now he wasn’t even able to go alone to the bathroom.

But this time, he wouldn’t cry. Oh, no. Enough with all those damned tears. He pressed through his lips: “You have to live with pain. Get used to it, idiot!”

It only made it worse. He couldn’t hold his tears back anymore. Crying, he curled himself as good as he could with all those metal inside his back into a little ball. His body shook uncontrollably and at first, he didn’t even notice the soothing hands stroking him.

Steve dragged Clint into his arms. “Shh, it’s all fine.”

“Nothing is fine!” Clint managed somehow to withdraw himself from the grasp of the Captain. He fell again to the ground and moaned. Angry and ashamed about his own weakness, he yelled: “Get the fuck outta here! I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, but sometimes accepting help makes it easier.” Steve left and Clint wished he had stayed.

**Step seven**

Natasha was of the opinion that her mate should see something else than the boring white walls and the rather mopy picture of poppies of the hospital room which he surely had studied already inch for inch. So she showed up with some clothes in which Clint should be able to slip easily without much pain.

Clint smiled tiredly when he saw her like this: “You know, usually it’s the other way round.“

Huge question marks were written all over Natasha’s face.

„Well, normally you have a date with a hot girl and get undressed from her afterward. But what do I do? I let myself be dressed from my date… Guess I’m out of practice.”

It was meant funny, but Natasha heard the hidden sadness in his words.

In an attempt to distract Clint from the sorrowfulness, she stroked him over his belly and grinned impishly: “Who says that I won’t do this later on?”

Clint caught her hand. „You don’t have to do that.”

„What?“

„To date me out of pity. It’s okay. No one wants a cripple.” His lip quivered. “Do you really think I don’t notice how you barely can look at me? As if you would want to come voluntarily closer than you have to.”

„That’s not true, Clint!”

“Well, you treat me like… like… I don’t know. But since you’ve been here you havn’t really looked at me for once.”

Nat squeezed his hand. She shot a quick glance at him.

“No, Nat. Look at me! Really look.”

“No!”

“Why?”

The red-haired had no words. How should she explain that it hurt her to see him battered like this? He didn’t want sympathy. So she bit her tongue and turned her head away.

“Knew it. You hate what you see.”

“Yes, Clint. I hate it. But not because you are ugly. You are not. Stop saying that! I hate it because it reminds me that I let you down every time I look at you. I wasn’t there for you. I…”

Nat was all helpless and angry.

„It’s not your fault that I’m a cripple. I’m too weak to be an Avenger. That’s what I got for pretending to be one.”

“Never say that again!” Her words were sharp like razor blades. Clint winced under his blanket, almost disappeared underneath it.

“What happened to your ‘Fall down seven times, stand up eight?’”

“I don’t know, Tasha. Guess I’ve fallen once too often.”

**Step eight**

Clint stood on the roof. It was a dark starry night. Air ruffled softly through his hair. He had no idea how he had made it up there. Somehow he had managed to get into a wheelchair, had maneuvered it into a lift and went up as high as it was possible. The wheelchair had got stuck in the elevator on the way out, so he had crawled further to the edge of the roof till he somehow got up with the help of the thing on his back he led a love-hate with.

“Don’t!” Clint turned around. Natasha stood behind him, wonderfully illuminated by the moonlight. Her red hair looked like liquid copper.

“You said you’d grow old with me” A ring which she held up sparkled in the light.

“Where did you get that? Never gave it to you.”

Clint wrested the ring from her hands, only to throw it angrily at her: „Who wants to be with a cripple? No one! Why should anyone want this? Why should _you_ want this?“

„I told you to don’t think of you as a cripple, a monster or whatever!“ Worried, Natasha watched how Clint only shook his head and turned around, facing again the void beneath him.

“And if you jump? – What then? You’ve got your peace. But what about me?”

Her voice broke. Wiping a tear off, it was this time up to her to run away.

**Step nine**

Cap leaned on the door and watched Clint shooting imaginary arrows. Three more weeks had passed since the incident on the roof. Everyone knew about it, but no one talked of it. Clint had claimed he had just wanted to be at his favorit place and had ended the topic with it.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? A shadow puppet contest? Gonna make my living as a clown on kids birthdays…” His words dripped with sarcasm. “Or I could join a freak show. At least I already have experience with the circus…”

Steve crossed his arms in front his chest. - Always a sign that he was either angry or confused.

The dark blond sighed: “I’m going through the motions of shooting arrows. Might seem a little bit weird thanks to this.” He nodded to his arm stump. “But I can’t help it.” His voice broke away. Quickly, Clint turned around to hide tears glittering treacherously in his eyes and bit his lips. Stubbornly, he resumed work.

Steve wanted to say something, but Clint didn’t let him. He waved his hand like he wanted to hush flies away. “Get lost Cap.”

Being convinced that he was alone again, he reached for his bow which he had hidden underneath his bed. Furtively, as if it was forbidden, he let his fingers glide over the carbon. Then he clasped the grip. He inhaled the smell of the material and absorbed the feeling of upcoming bliss. The bow lay a little bit shakily in his hand. He put it aside and took an arrow instead. That was easier for the beginning and as he was ambidextrous, it didn’t matter in which hand he held the arrows and in which the bow. His eyes were closed now and he imagined how it would be like to nock the arrow, how it would be to draw the bow and to shoot.

He went through the motion. The arrow fell with a silent clatter to the ground. Clint reached for another one. His eyes were still closed. The feeling of everything being real intensified. And suddenly it was damned real. Clint felt how much strength he needed to draw the bow. More than he was used to lately but he went through it. He felt the string against his fingers. Heard the click with which the arrow was nocked. He noticed that the bow wasn't held in the perfect angle to the arrow. Felt the resistance and the barely sensible draught when he released the arrow.

A genuine smile crossed his face. A smile that this time even reached his eyes, which he opened wide when he heard the thud of the arrow on the other side of the room. That had been simply way too real to be a dream. And indeed, his arrow was stuck in the picture he had aimed at. It wasn’t perfect. Although he had closed his eyes, he actually could have done it better. But he hadn’t done it on his own.

Slightly unsure, stood the guy whom Clint just had chucked out on his ear next to him, holding his bow in his hands, the string still vibrating.

Clint was speechless. Finally, Steve broke the silence: “Sorry, shouldn’t have done that. Just thought… Forget it. Sorry.”

“No, that’s… That’s actually great. Would you…?”

“Hold it again?” asked Cap, a smile stealing on his lips.

Clint nodded with beaming face and sparkling eyes, which were hidden behind the glasses though.

Steve placed himself behind Clint. The archer was completely in his element and gave orders how to hold it correctly before he breathed deeply and closed his eyes once more.

Steve would have loved to call his friends and share Clint’s progress with everyone. He hadn’t seen his colleague so confident and grounded since the time before his transformation. But instead, he kept quiet and did everything Clint said.

“Stance – foundation.”

Clint nocked the arrow.

“And grip.”

Steve clenched his fingers tighter around the bow. The smaller man felt the Captain’s breath on his hair and how tense he was.

“Relax. It’s enough when the bow is tense…”

He followed through the next steps in his mind.

_Focus solely on your goal, regardless of your surroundings._

“Set up and draw. Inhale and prepare for what you are about to do.”

In unison, he and Steve soaked the sweet fresh air in.

“Anchor and hold.”

Steve did his best to disrupt Clint as less as possible, to give him the illusion it was himself holding the bow.

_All that remains is you and your target._

Clint forgot everything around him. He forgot his fears that haunted him. Forgot the itching and hurting arm stump. Forgot the feeling of being a monster. Forgot that he needed help to shoot. He merged with Steve. They were a perfect unit. So perfect that he didn’t notice Steve anymore.

He let loose - The arrows and the feeling of being a worthless cripple.

Without looking, he knew it was perfect.

Though, he furrowed irritated his brows. Steve had lowered the bow. It ripped him out of his illusion.

A little bit frustrated Clint added: “One last step: Feedback.”

“Oh,” Steve blushed, knowing that Clint had the habit to freeze for a second to feel his position, to find out if there was anything off to be even better the next time.

“But wasn’t that bad,” smiled Clint Steve’s genuine remorse away.

“Thanks for letting me have experienced this feeling. Thought I would never… Never again…” He halted. Then he ran away.

**Step ten**

Tony noticed happily how Clint accepted his little present. He was working on contacts that could replace the glasses. Would be even less noticeable and couldn’t simply break or fog up. And he also had already the next idea how to compensate for having taken his arm.

“There is an option…”

“But…?”

“Well, it’s a hot affair.”

“Which means?” Clint stood on the window and put his glasses up and down, comparing the different views. Even a couple days later it was still fascinating.

“Well,… You could explode accidentally.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I was drunk when I wrote the Extremis formula, Surely could twitch something here and there, and… Hey!”

Clint was gone.

“Okay, was great to talk to you, pal! Admit it, you just want keep doing “archery” with Steve, right? You don’t want an arm at all.” Tony sighed. He couldn’t understand why Clint didn’t want anything to heal, repair or even just replace his missing limb. But the archer suffered. And as Tony knew it, he wouldn’t give up. He would find a way to help Clint.

**Step eleven**

The door was one of those cheap chipboards with a foil clued on it to pretend that it was real wood. Clint stared at it for over fifteen minutes now. If someone would ask him to draw the vein by heart, he wouldn’t have a problem to do it. But no one asked. Only the curious looks of nurses met him from time to time. But they averted their glances quickly. Too frightening appeared the visitor and the guard that was positioned in front of the door signaled that it was okay.

Clint felt a hand on his healthy arm. He didn’t look up.

“Clint, you have to go now. My shift is over soon.”

The archer nodded, still not showing any feelings at all. His hard mask hid everything perfectly.

“Okay,” the Shield agent who knew Clint from the time when he used to be an active agent sighed.

“I’ll go to the bathroom. I’m back in five minutes. That’s more than enough time.”

Again, Clint nodded. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

“We are even, pal.” The agent walked away.

“Yes, we are,” mumbled Clint. “But I’m not even with you.”

Vigorously, he opened the door. He hadn’t known what to expect. It was a hospital.

Daedalus was severely injured, he had known that before, and still the sight of him stopped him dead in tracks. His dagger wandered back into his sleeve.

He wanted to murder this monster. And with monster he didn’t mean himself any longer. The real monster lay in front of him, pale and needy. It would be so easy to…

The dagger wandered again into his hand. The tip left a scratch on the man’s arm. Not deep enough to make him bleed though. Steadfastly, Daedalus looked into his eyes. Clint grabbed him by his hair, tugged ungently on it and hissed: “Stop staring at me!”

“I designed you beautifully.”

Clint enhanced the pressure on the knife. Breathed. He knew the procedure. Had never used it himself as it was too brutal. It would make his victim die with the greatest possible pain in the slowest possible way. Exactly what Daedalus had earned. Only he couldn’t kill someone who couldn’t defend himself. That was against his codex.

“Damn the codex,” mumbled he.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” The blade poked in Daedalus’ neck now. “Only have two minutes left. So I’ll do it the quick way you lucky bastard.”

The knife began to tremble in his hands. His fingers cramped. Daedalus took it softly away whilst Clint only stood there unable to move.

“Let go, son.”

“I’m not your son.” Clint reached for the dagger, but only to throw it against the wall where it got stuck in a picture with red flowers.

“I can’t do it. Fuck!” In his frustration Clint kicked against the only chair inside the room and let himself sink on the ground. He buried his head in his left arm.

“Why did you do it? To prove that you could?”

“No, you don’t understand. My son…”

“I’m not…”

“You are not my son. That’s true. But I could have been your daddy.” The voice full of affection let Clint look bewildered up.

“But that wasn’t what I wanted to say.” It was obvious that the old man was weak and had troubles with speaking, but he kept going: “You know, I used to have a son. Very impulsive. Had his own head. Just like you.”

Daedalus smiled lost in his memories. The happy face was crossed by deep worry lines.

“I made a mistake. I wanted the best for my son. Thought he would be better off without wings.”

“You mean…?” Clint stood up with wobbly legs and stumbled backward.

“Yes, I am… I was Angel’s father.” Daedalus swallowed sadly. “I wanted him to be normal. To be accepted by society. I was worried about his future and…”

“I don’t care about you and your son. What has this to do with me?” interrupted Clint.

“Taking his wings was a mistake. He went to another guy who gave him metal wings. They killed him. He crashed. I just wanted him back!” The old, sad eyes watered and if Clint wouldn’t have experienced firsthand what Daedalus was able to do, he would have felt sympathy.

“You really thought you could have him back when you do this to me?” He turned around and spread the wing. It was still bent from the incident at the fishing village and not really usable anymore.

“No, of course not.” Daedalus smiled mildly. “But you reminded me of my son. So stubborn, talented and underrated. You needed a chance to evolve. I wanted to help you to…”

“…wipe your mistakes out?”

Clint sparkled inwardly with anger. He could hardly hold it back.

“Y’know, I always wished for a dad. I mean a real, caring dad. But I’m not a replacement. I’m a human being!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee…”

“That I might have feelings? You fucking selfish idiot! You destroyed your son’s life and mine too, because you didn’t think one fucking time. Why do you never ask what people want?”

Daedalus looked with unseeing eyes through him. His voice was shaky.

“I dragged my boy out of the river. I couldn’t save him. But his legacy.”

“The wings,” whispered Clint.

“Exactly, the wings. I only needed someone worthy to wear them. You!”

“I wear your dead son's wing?” Clint turned away and wretched by the thought that something of a dead guy was stuck inside him.

“But you said you just made them for me.” Clint couldn’t remember much through the fog of pain that had coated his brain back then but he was quite sure about it.

“Well, let’s say they were like they were made for you. Don’t be that nitpicky.”

And there it was again: the cold, emotionless monster shined through the façade of an old man who just wanted the “best”.

“No surprise your son didn’t want to be with you.”

Clint dashed out of the room, not knowing that he had hurt Daedalus with these words more than he could have with his dagger. Cold sweat made his shirt stick on his body. It looked like he had taken a shower. The healing arm stump throbbed. And Clint ran, and ran, desperate to leave everything behind.

**Step twelve**

Clint stood on the archery range. But instead a bow, he held a dagger in his hand and threw it perfectly. A throwing star followed. The cold, sharp material felt awesome in his hand. He went experienced through the motions.

After he had visited Daedalus, he had needed something to come down. Archery always helped. But as he couldn’t do that anymore, he bethought himself of his roots. In the circus he had been praised for his tricks with the throwing stars and throwing them now made him somehow feel like he wasn’t such a helpless cripple.

“Hawkeye! It’s great to have you back!” Tony spread his arms. Steve, Natasha and Bruce accompanied him.

“No.” Clint shook his head. “Hawkeye is no more. He’s dead.”

The others exchanged shocked looks. Tony’s grin was wiped off. But Clint resolved their worries. “Tony,” he put of his glasses and searched for the billionair’s eyes. “You have to realize that you havn’t taken away what I love most.” The dark haird opened his mouth but had no idea what to say.

“Archery is important for me, sure.” Clint sounded wistful. “But what gives my life sense, what makes it worth living never has been a pair of arrows and a fancy bow. It’s you.”

Tony blushed and had already a cheecky reply on his lips but Clint didn’t let him speak. “It’s you and Nat, and Steve, Bruce,… You all. It’s family. Thank’s to you I’m still alive. And no matter what, I’ll always cary you in my heart.”

He fell silent. He wasn’t used to such revelations of his thoughts but it was important for his friends that they were aware of the love he felt for them. Otherwise they might not understand the next step he would make.

“Hawkeye is dead but may I introduce you to ‘Ronin’?” He played with the last remaining throwing star in his hand, swirled in an artistic jump around and threw the star perfectly into the aim.

“I can’t be any longer Hawkeye. I’m not the one I've been before. But I don’t have to be Angel either. So I chose to be someone completely new.”

He collected his daggers and stars and reached for a backpack.

“I need a new start.”

Clint turned around and left, a smile playing on his lips. The west coast was waiting for an Avenger.

And this, my dears, was the beginning of a new super secret boyband. The West Coast Avengers. You’ll hear of them.

**-the end-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uff, that was quite a bit. Thanks for reading!  
> Would love to rework this story and turn it into a comic. Could be cool to see world out of Clint’s eyes, like when the scalpel closes in for the operation or when he sees everything completely different for the first time,… Unfortunatly, I can’t draw that good. Well, maybe one day…
> 
> Off topic: I’ve to do a performance as a part of a test. It’s about elocution and the art of reciting. I’m desperately looking for texts I could perform. Possible topics are: the world of Gods (no matter if Northern, Greek,…), doom, psychiatry or sharing a flat. If anyone of you knows a text, a book, song or movie that I could use for reciting or inspiration let me please know! Or maybe you have an idea what I myself could write about that topic(s). Self-written texts are allowed. It just should be emotional or have a message, so I can touch people by performing it. I’d be extremely thankful for any advice/inspiration!


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